


Love Me Like You Do

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BAMF Hermione Granger, BDSM, Black! Hermione Granger, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Healer Hermione Granger, Marriage Law Challenge, Mental Health Issues, Molly Weasley Bashing, Past Lives, Pen Pals, Secret Relationship, Slow Build, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Traditions, Wizarding World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:31:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 29
Words: 135,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: Her name was Hermione Granger and though she had a lot of issues, she wasn't crazy. She was just sick, really sick, and didn't have a soulmate mark. She wasn't the fanciful mental that wizards liked to throw around. It's always been hard for her to make friends, but when the Triwizard schools start a letter exchange program three years before the TriWizard tournament, she's about to find out exactly how crazy the wizarding world can be and maybe, just maybe, find an anchor in the midst of gender politics, blood purists, and a whole lot of teenaged hormones.Athena, save her.





	1. Her Name Is Hermione Granger

“Don’t be so nervous,” Monica told him as they followed the tall older woman who’d shown up at their door only a few months ago with a letter and an explanation for why their daughter had some rather miraculous things happen around her since she was a baby.

Never mind that she was nervous out of her wits as well, trying to put on a brave face for Hermes and Hermione who were more curious and excited than anything.

Hermione held her grandfather’s, Hermes, hand, excited and doing her best to appear as fearless as she looked with her hair fluffing up in the late August chill. They’d debated for months about it, months of going back and forth, delaying it for a full year, until Hermes, Monica’s father, had put an end to it and directed their attention to Hermione who sat on the other side of the table. They hadn’t even noticed the way she stared at her plate, the way everything on the table hovered a good few inches off the table.

Minerva had been present for the conversation and shocked that a muggle-born child had such power at so young of an age. It isn’t until she has a moment alone with the girl that Hermione tells her, in no uncertain terms, that she’d practiced because she remembered making something float as just a baby after her mother had fallen in the kitchen. When she asked exactly  _ how _ she practiced, Hermione, rather sheepishly, admitted to spending a lot of time in the library’s section about witchcraft most of it sounded like rubbish, but there were a few texts that she’d found that seemed to be worth something.  Minerva chocked it up to something about the side of town her grandfather lived on in Athens.

That had been all of a week ago that Hermes had, more or less, forced his daughter and her husband to do what was best for Hermione even if that meant sending her off to school again much earlier than they’d intended, so here they were at the entrance to Diagon Alley following Minerva around. They’d had quite a row about it before it was decided as it would be the second time that Hermes had stepped in, the second time that they would have to send her away and maybe only see her on holidays. 

But Hermes had won out in the long run because as much as Monica and Wendell wanted to spend the rest of their lives with Hermione to try and learn her, to be the parents they wanted to be to her, to make up for the years apart, they all knew that keeping her from her birthright, keeping her in a world that would never fully understand her would be antithetical to being the parents they always strived to be.

Her parents were a tad wary about what exactly was on the list for school, it being the oddest school shopping trip they’d ever been on, but Hermes had taken the lead, at the currency exchange, establishing a bank account for Hermione with the Goblins at Gringotts, helping her trade a portion of her muggle money from her bank shaped like a large book into wizarding and storing it in the small vault she’d been given along with his own contribution to the store. He made a note to move her college fund to the wizarding bank and took charge of procuring the things on her list while her parents looked around trying to cling to one another for sanity.

“Thanks, pappoús,” she said as they walked ahead of her parents who were still staring into the shops, confused and muttering to one another. 

“Anything for you, mikros,” he said as they journeyed into the shop that had all of the cauldrons apparently. 

“Cauldrons and then clothes?”

“Must we save the books for last?”

Hermes laughed, squeezing her hand, “Alright, chemistry stuff, wands, pet, books, and then robes.”

She pouted, “You’re plotting against me, pappoús.”

“Only plotting to get back to the non-magical side of the world before your parents turn tail and run.”

She looked back at them looking more and more freaked out as they walked along, Hermione looked up at her grandfather.

“You aren’t… surprised?”

“Me?” He asked with a scoff. “My great-grandmother used to tell me stories of magic quests and things. Considering how old she was when she passed, this isn’t particularly surprising… not to mention solid marble doesn’t move around on its own to help tiny people get up to the higher shelves of the bookcase...”

She smiled, wrinkling her nose at that one. Not to mention Hermione had always been different from other children. Muggle children were usually born with a soulmark. They started off as birthmarks, but by the time one was about five years old, they begun to take shape. Sometimes they were letters, sometimes numbers, they would always be some clue as to when, or if, you would meet your soulmate. They usually changed over time. 

Monica and Wendell had their alma maters on insides of their wrists in each other’s neat cursive. Hermes had his wife’s nickname on the back of his left ring finger in her neat cursive. Hermione never had soulmark. When the letter had come from Hogwarts, he could only nod and say that made perfect sense. There was no way his Mia wouldn’t have a soulmate. Wizardry was really the only option. 

He didn’t know how wizarding soulmates worked, but he was sure that she’d meet hers in enough time.

Hermione worried her lip, “Do you think… they’ll be okay?”

He hummed, “It… will take time, mikros, but they will get there.”

Hermione nodded and walked into Potage’s Cauldron Shop. There are a few other groups of people around and though they enter, her parents stay outside, apparently deciding that they needed a moment before entering any place else. 

*

Lily smiled indulgently watching Harry nod and listen to Severus about the differences between the Cauldron makers, insisting that he get the better pewter cauldron made in London by the oldest Cauldron makers in the wizarding world. It was probably the closest thing they would get to a bonding moment for at least another year or so.

“I would hate to have to deduct points for melting your cauldron in class.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Severus gave him his normally flat look making Lily and shake her head, “Come on, Harry. We still have to get it engraved.”

Harry nodded giving Severus a suspicious look before picking up the suggested cauldron and moving towards the front to pay for the cauldron he’d selected. Lily turned seeing the very out of place pair. The older man looking at cauldrons and trying to speak to the shopkeeper. His smile bright in his dark face, his hair peppered gray. She would have guessed a grandfather to the young girl who had her face obscured by the Cauldron Magazine she was reading. Only the volume of her hair visible over the top.

“Muggles,” Severus said seeing where she was looking. “Rather personable muggles at that.”

Lily smiled turning towards the pair and Severus watched her go. Harry looked up at him. 

“She’s having one of her moments isn’t she?”

Severus pat him on the shoulder, “Hopefully you inherit these moments along with your eyes. I assume the wit will come in your seventh year.”

Harry glowered at him, “Just you wait… when I pass Potions with flying colors.”

Severus nodded, “That would be a sight indeed.”

Hermione lowered the magazine, then looked up at her grandfather before turning to look through the rows of cauldrons, muttering to herself and glancing at the magazine in her hand as Lily grabbed her grandfather’s attention. Hermione looked between the rows of cauldrons by type, then by manufacturer until she found the one she was looking for. She lifted it, finding it surprisingly light and carried it in her arms back to her grandfather who was conversing with Lily and Harry as Severus had gone outside to speak with someone.

“Mia,” Hermes said with a smile, “Where’d you get off to?”

“I found the best,” Hermione said, walking towards him with the cauldron she’d picked out. “For a first year at least.”

Lily nudged Harry who seemed shocked with an amused smile as the cauldron was the very same one that Severus had identified as the best in the lineup. 

“Be careful,” Lily whispered to him. “It looks like you and Draco will have some competition.”

Hermione smiled at them both and held out a hand to shake with Lily and Harry. With niceties exchanged, they went on with their shopping, Lily giving her a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder before leaving with Harry. Severus came back to join them with a shake of his head.

“Are you going to tell me to make friends?” Harry asked as they exited and Lily laughed.

“That’s what school is for, dear,” Lily said. 

Severus let out a scoff of laughter and continued down the alley to gather the rest of his supplies for school. For Harry, it feels more like a chance for his mother and stepfather to be stopped and asked for an autograph. 

Hermione’s trip through Diagon Alley was very odd and exciting. Hermes tricked her with a stop for ice cream and then through three other shops before the bookstore. 

“You sneaky old man,” he only grinned at her and opened the door gesturing her into the establishment and watching her get lost in the stacks, finding first the books that she needed and three others as they’d agreed upon. What he isn’t counting on is them being the biggest books she could possibly find. 

“Magic… is a wonder. I’m sure this book is meant to be in multiple editions.”

She beamed at him, “I think I rather like the wizarding world.”

Hermes shook his head and helped her get her books to the cash register. She counted out the money herself, making sure she was sure of the amounts before loading them onto her cart and heading out. Crookshanks meowed at her from within his cage contentedly as they headed back towards the rather large fireplace. Minerva sent them to the floo point where they’d parked and helped the load things in before giving her her ticket. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Ms. Granger,” she said kindly.

“Thank you, Professor.”


	2. Biblio-logical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts girls are mean, Hogwarts boys are mean, Snape is mean and Hermione...
> 
> Well, she just needs a hug and for Madame Pomfrey to listen to her when she says the potions aren't working the way they're supposed to.

She sat alone in her room, her two roommates, Lavender and Parvati were down at dinner. She’d taken it upon herself to sneak into the Great Hall and then run straight out after the catastrophe in the corridor earlier that day.  Crookshanks leaped up onto her bed as she dried her eyes and forced herself to breathe, familiar long breaths that did n Nothing for the burning in her eyes. 

He crawled into her lap, purring and rubbing himself against her happily, probably sensing her mood. She’d only been in classes for a few weeks and already… She’d managed to alienate herself from most of her housemates, her roommates, create an enemy out of the richest kid in their year, one Draco Malfoy, and remain completely alone. 

Why had she thought the wizarding world would have been any different than the muggle one? Why would she be any different in it than the muggle one at that?

She glanced towards the tonic sitting on her bedside table. Her parents and grandfather had been sure to notify the school of her special brand of depression, providing a prescription for her. Madame Pomfrey had given her a week’s worth of potions to take at night before she went to bed, but not without food. She’d been taking them religiously, but tonight she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be able to stomach food let alone a potion that took this away from her. The sort of heady near addicting emptiness that came with these spirals.

To her credit, the potions weren’t exactly helping.

The pills she’d taken since being diagnosed made it easy to control her anxieties so she didn’t end up isolated among books for any spare moment she could manage. Made it easy to toe the line of “level” without dipping too far into either side. They made her almost outgoing in class. The potions did much of the same without the general loss of appetite, maybe even more so given that the pills had made her feel a little less like the world was on her chest some days and others she was absolutely  _ free _ and high and prepared to do anything.

_ See where that got me,  _ she thought bitterly thinking of the way Severus seemed to dock points from her even when she was absolutely right.

_ An Insufferable Know-It-All… _

It had been harsh, to say the least, but to answer his question honestly would have made it all the more embarrassing than Ron’s  _ He’s got a point you know. _

It had been just the first week of class. She was just off the pills and started the potions the night before. The potions had done nearly everything the pills had done without stripping her of her already paltry appetite. They also seemed to lean too far to one side of level so that, rather than pulling her up from a depth, the potions flung her into a high. She couldn't imagine why that was so hard for Madame Pomfrey to understand.  Her brain already moved too fast, quick calculations like sparks whizzing through the dark, around all the edges and back in a matter of moments. But this was worse, she hadn’t had a true episode since taking the pills, but that didn’t mean she forgot the signs of one coming on. Impulsivity, higher energy levels, lack of appetite, and, worst of all, insomnia, endless nights of reading with no rest, running herself into the ground and another part of her screaming “stop” to the side that was running too fast. She'd been running too fast, faster than she could stop herself so answers she usually kept behind her teeth came spilling out, hence Snape giving her the epithet of "Insufferable-Know-It-All."

Madame Pomfrey had told her that it would take some time to adjust to the difference and perhaps in a few days it would subside. That had been weeks ago and surprisingly muggle doctors and wizarding doctors had that in common: the complete inability to manage the symptoms caused by the medicine. She didn’t think she’d ever miss the sight of those three pills, but she was out and, per the rules, her parents and Hermes wouldn’t be sending her anymore.

She looked over to the potion again, knowing that she should eat, take it and hope for a better day, but, honestly, she just didn’t feel like, much rather sinking into the depth of it. It may not have been the exhilarating high, the seemingly inexhaustible energy, but she had far more control over it than that other Hermione. 

_ Yes, _ she thought. The other Hermione was untameable, uncheckable, and unstoppable until she crashed. This Hermione was always the one to mend the pieces sometimes in a hospital bed, sometimes beneath a mountain of blankets. For now, she would crawl under her blankets, draw her curtains and try to sleep to the sound of Crookshanks at the foot of her bed. 

It doesn't surprise her that, n Not even an hour later, she woke with a start, her heart hammering and her clothes drenched in sweat. She took breath after breath, gulping the air down with no help for her shaking hands. Crookshanks meowed leaping onto the bed to try and soothe her maybe, but there would be no help. She got up, rounding her bed to open her trunk and find one of the books she’d brought from home, one she’d been meaning to read. 

_ The Iliad  _ in Ancient Greek,  _ Beowulf _ in Old English… she chose  _ The Iliad _ and crawled back onto her bed, settling herself against the headboard and drawing the curtains back around the bed before opening it and starting from the beginning. She’s read most of it in that ancient language when she hears the first bell chime. She glanced to the bedside table where her potion still sat before getting up and getting ready for classes.  Before the other girls can get up, she’s gone down the stairs, down the other set, and straight to the Infirmary where Madame Pomfrey is tidying beds and checking on students who were waking up. 

“Please tell me it isn’t another-- Miss Granger?” She looked at her, taking in the state of her. Blood-shot brown eyes that are oddly listless, shaking hands, her bag on her shoulder. “This way.”

She guided Hermione behind a screen and put up a silencing charm, “Sit down.”

She did so, eyes cast down and Poppy drew up her wand, “You haven’t slept.”

“I couldn’t,” Hermione said softly. 

“Is the potion no longer working?”

“I didn’t take it,” Hermione said.

“My dear, the point of the potions is that you take them regularly. Just like those muggle things.”

_ Gods _ , she sounded just like Dr. Newlin back home almost as condescending, almost as dismissive. Some part of her calls it almost maternal, but the look of confusion on her face hits her too close to home. Her mother would look at her like that sometimes, when she was younger, when Hermione couldn’t muster up the ability to inflect, to speak more than a few words at a time even when she was perfectly fine, a normal, sometimes bully free day, at school.

_ Ma petite belle, what’s wrong? Did something happen at school? _

“It’s getting worse,” she said.

Poppy huffed, “My dear, I told you it would take some time to adjust.”

Hermione said nothing as the woman turned, fiddling with her rack of bottles to pull out a small vial and turn back to her.

“Take this, eat something and be sure to take your potion tonight, do you understand?”

Hermione looked at her and then the vial before getting up and leaving without it. 

“Miss Granger!”

She didn’t want to deal with Poppy-Newlin words swirling around in her head, she had enough going wrong at the moment. So she went to class and said nothing, forcing all of her energy into just lifting her quill to write notes, to stir the cauldron at the right time, to stopper it and hand in her essays. Everyone seemed to give her a wide berth for the most part. She didn’t sit beside Ron again in Potions, preferring to sit at the end, distanced from everyone even as Slytherins pelted her with magicked balls of parchment. It’s an oddly… liberating feeling not caring about any of it. Not caring about food, not caring about people, not caring about anything… just letting the information come into her brain, scatter and reform into proper constructs. 

It feels a bit like she was little and she’d spend all day with her pappoús. Her parents had been grateful for him coming to London to take care of her so they didn’t have to hire anyone, but they resented that he only spoke Greek to her so her first word was “pappoús” instead of “dada”.  The word right after was “biblio”.  Hermes had laughed and settled her into his lap as he read her a story. Her parents had been right put out about it and only then had he started speaking more English to her. He’d lived with them through her first year of pre-school. After the incident, she’d been taken to a litany of doctors. Her parents had panicked after being told what happened at school and seeing her clinging to Hermes in terror with nothing to say for herself or about what happened. They always took her to the doctors without him, preferring to report back when they were done. She wondered if perhaps that had been part of the problem. 

Dr. Newlin was the first. He'd called it schizophrenia and post-traumatic stress from the bullying and gave her prescriptions. The pills had lasted all of a few days before Hermes had a fit. They made her sick, too sick to do anything in school, but pass out in the corridor. The doctor after Newlin called it depression with a little bit too much Asperger's and perhaps she was a little farther down on the autism spectrum than most people. In the end, it had led to her changing prescriptions again. She didn’t remember the rest of their names, all faceless people with degrees, her parents hanging on their every word in the hopes to make her normal and Hermes there to pick up the pieces.  She’d had greek every night as it was the only thing she would always, consistently, put in her mouth. After the second incident, one that she looked back on as the moment no one could deny that Hermione was something else, they let Hermes take her to Greece with him, enroll her in a private international school where she could learn all she’d like and there were several hundred safeguards against bullying. Sure, she didn’t make any friends really, but she’d needed the peace that came with the school.

It hadn’t been until her most recent doctor, a friend of Hermes, who’d come in to observe her at school when she was five or so, that it was called high-functioning depression along with bits and pieces of other diagnoses. The woman agreed that Hermione had several symptoms indicative of multiple things, but the major issue was her trauma and depression. As usual, she didn’t fall into any set category. Almost scarily so considering that she was so young. She’d always called it highly logical, the ability to compartmentalize her emotions, shut them off or turn them on when she needed to and anxiety, but regardless of what it was called it landed her with a regimen of pills to take: a blue, a red, and a green pill to try and keep her brain steady, forcing the other Hermione to calm down and this Hermione to stand up, meeting somewhere half way.

And now she was in the wizarding world where they didn’t do pills as muggle medicines were generally frowned upon, sitting in a classroom, reading the charms textbook in her mind while her classmates pelted her with paper balls whenever Professor Flitwick wasn’t looking. She felt the familiar leveling of just not carrying descend. Had it always been this deep? Had it always been so…

Comforting. She felt untouchable because she was nothing.

“Hello everyone, we have a very special project today. First, does anyone know what the TriWizard Tournament is?”

She heard her own voice reciting the entry from a book she’d read in the library word for word. The words struggled with her teeth and tongue, but she felt nothing. She grabbed for a pen and began to write, like copying from a textbook.

_ The TriWizard Tournament was a three school event that was meant to challenge students from each school in a series of magical contests-- _

“Yes, Miss Bones?”

“That’s the tournament that a bunch of people have died in isn’t it?”

\-- _ It was discontinued in 1792 due to the number of underage wizarding deaths in the previous years.  _

“Well… yes, but the Ministry is speaking of bringing it back with several provisions in order to avoid that outcome. Hogwarts has been chosen to host the event in three years time. In that time, we will be seeking to… bridge the gap between the three schools through letters.”

He flicked his wand so a box came hovering in and explaining that everyone would choose a pseudonym with which to write, write it down on a scrap of parchment along with a brief greeting message.  They were not to share where they went to school or any identifying information about their school or location. All letters would be translated into the appropriate languages. And, at some point, you may have the opportunity to meet each other.

“Well, how are these matches being decided?”

“Excellent question, Miss Brown! Your magic will decide! Today we’ll be learning what's called an Anima Charm. Can anyone tell me what it is?”

Someone nudged her as her fingers moved to write the answer on a scratch piece of parchment. It was always easier to write when she was like this, her mind taking in whatever was said and storing it away like a magazine article in the pages of her life that she could flip through as she lay in bed sleepless.

“A soul charm?”

“Excellent guess! Five points to Ravenclaw!”

Someone nudged her again as Flitwick asked if anyone knew what it was for. Her fingers wrote the answer down.

“ _ Granger _ ,” someone hissed at her. “Say something.”

“Miss Granger?” She looked up at Professor Flitwick. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, Professor,” she said. “Perfectly fine.”

Never mind that her insides were running around, she was sure her pulse had kicked up and her breathing was coming in harsh low pants. The world shimmered and her hand shook. It was coming just like she knew it would. Her heart kicked up in panic-- she couldn't...

She hated these. 

_ Breathe, Mia, _ she could almost hear Hermes coaxing her, pulling her up against him, stroking her hair and murmuring in Greek. She hadn’t had one in a while, she assumed she was overdue with the added stress. 

She forced herself to breathe and start opening compartments in her mind, shoving the wild thoughts away like a crazy round ‘em up until it wasn’t such a struggle to breathe in for four counts while reciting the numbers of pi. 

_ One seven four eight eight one five two zero nine two zero nine six two eight... _

He gave her a strange look as she took a slow steadying breath and continued reciting the number, the long stream of them streaming through her mind one after the other. Madame Pomfrey came in around the thousandth digit and went to him whispering in Flitwick’s ear before leaving again.

“Miss Granger, you are to head to the Infirmary after classes. Now, can anyone answer my question?”

Hermione felt her fingers moving, her mind occupied with pi, her body occupied with breathing through the attack brewing in her, her right hand scribbling the answers to the long list of his questions that no one had answers for. She wasn’t sure how long it was before the page vanished, floating across the classroom towards the Professor’s hands. Her right hand froze without parchment to write on, her left clenched around her wand.

“You have been quite occupied all class, Miss Granger, perhaps this will teach you to pay more attention whether you are doing well in the class or not.”

She heard the Slytherin’s snicker behind her as he began to read the page,  “The Fidelius Charm…”

He read on, out loud growing more confused by the moment. The answers to all of his questions there, in detail, as if she’d been copying them from a book though she had no book on her desk.  He looked at her as she set her quill in her bag and the end of the class bell rang. She stood and exited the door, taking a right instead of the left that led to the Infirmary. She found herself in the library, alone in her favorite corner with a thick book on her lap to read until her next class, straight through lunch. She heard the bell chime sometime near the middle of the book. She checked it out, put it in her bag and walked to Potions. There would be an exam today, she knew that and set herself up properly: book in her bag, ink pot on the desk beside her parchment and waiting for the rest of her classmates to arrive. Severus posed a question to the class, for the person who got it right, their entire house could use their books for the exam. 

Someone nudged her and nudged her hard enough to bruise she was sure, but she didn’t feel it, staring at her parchment and waiting. She didn’t care if she knew the answer or not, didn’t care about Snape’s offer, about the pain in her side. All of it went into a neat compartment, shut away in the dark. No one answered it as the test began, the question became a bonus question on the board.  She answered it easily in high and exact detail. The words and facts pouring out of her mind and onto the page at a steady rate. She caught errors nearly as fast as she’d made them, checking her answers and receding back into the comfort of knowledge and facts, the ease of books. 

Books didn’t care how much she read. They didn’t care how many times she raised her hand. They didn’t care how lonely she felt either, but they were always there waiting to be opened and teach her something, distract her. They didn’t care that she couldn’t care either, it was a relationship born of mutual apathy and the logic that if she couldn’t talk to people, she would at least fill her mind with something interesting.

She signed her test at the very bottom, the way he preferred and dusted it with drying powder before rolling it up and tying it closed. Others had wax, a seal to use, the seal maker had never obliged to make her one with the influx of pureblood requests… She’d fallen somewhere off the list and would probably never go back to get it either. She hadn’t told anyone that, just bought a spool of neat cord and tied it, or a drop of hot wax without a seal. She walked towards the front to turn in her exam as well as her homework from the day before and returned to her desk to sit quietly. 

As was customary, Severus opened the scrolls he’d been given, keeping an eye on the not-so sneaky first years attempting to cheat if they dared, especially the Gryffindors who seemed to not be interested in trying to be sneaky. Harry kept his eyes and his parchment to himself, probably knowing that he would never hear the end of it of Severus ever caught him cheating, one of the disadvantages to being the stepson of a professor. 

Beyond that, there had been a subtle shift in the classroom over the last few days. Neville seemed to be ruining his life more and more, perhaps he’d deducted more points from the Lion’s house more than usual… but there was something else…

His eyes drifted to Hermione. Her hair seemed as voluminous as ever,  as frizzy and uncontrolled, but it was her eyes that told him something else. They were bloodshot as if she had not slept and empty as if she did not feel anything.  Upon reading her exam, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. She very clearly had the answer to his question, what exactly had stopped her from raising her hand and getting Gryffindor the right to use their books… a thing that would have greatly improved the Gryffindor cause for the House Cup. 

“Miss Granger,” he said as everyone began to leave. “A word.”

Hermione lifted her bag from beneath her chair, heavy with her latest procurements from the library and walked around the bench as everyone else began to file out. She stopped in front of his desk, piled high with scrolls of parchment and waited. 

“Have you a reason for this?”

She said nothing waiting for him continue maybe. His eyes narrowed a bit as he turned the page towards her. 

“You very well had the answer, I would have thought that you would have relished the chance to prove yourself, as usual, a know-it-all. Yet you say nothing…”

“I thought you wanted me to shut up, Professor.”

Severus blinked an eyebrow quirking at her flat tone. It isn’t sarcasm, far too empty for that, without malice--it’s almost an automated response as if she’d only programmed herself to speak. 

_No_ , he thought, not a programmed response. 

Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag as she regarded him from her bloodshot eyes and absolutely flat affect. It was a tad unnerving to see her this way considering how hard it was for him most days to manage even the basic inflections and sentences that were more than a few words at a time. She looked as if she was so very deep in Occlumens that she couldn’t even hear the basic demands of her body for sleep or food…

She looked like he had in the days of the war.

“You look like you’ve missed quite a bit of sleep, I did not think you one to keep late nights over such things.”

“Other things keep me up,” she said.

Severus sat back regarding her. Logically, there was no one in her life to teach her Occlumens. More importantly, the depth of practice that would dissolve whatever affect she had would take at least a few months for a gifted student. She had not been involved with the wizarding world for that long, he knew from speaking with McGonagall about her.

“Go. I won’t have you late to your next class on my account.”

She turned. Severus watched her go, something in his gut niggling and uncomfortable watching her walk away. He’d like to think that it was his conscience, but he was pretty sure that only reared its head where Lily, or perhaps Harry, was concerned. He looked at the page in his hand, reviewing her answers and set it aside. Perhaps… he should speak with Albus about this.

*

“Miss Granger,” Hermione looked up from her place at the Great Hall’s table. Poppy stood over her looking determinedly put out and stern. 

“With me this instant,” she said. 

Hermione got up, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and following the woman towards the Infirmary. 

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

She looked at the girl who seemed unaffected by the fact that she was blatantly going against orders. 

“Were you not told to come to the Infirmary?”

“After classes.”

“And you did not come because?”

“I did,” Hermione said. “You weren’t there.”

Poppy frowned and sighed, rubbing the space between her eyes tiredly. Hermione would have had to have come just after her classes ended and walked right back out to dinner.

“This is not good for you,” Poppy said. “You understand that don’t you?”

“Good’s relative,” Hermione said flatly, blinking slowly. 

“You need to eat, surely you understand that?” Poppy tried at a loss for what to say to the girl. Most students suffered from basic anxiety, a touch of depression before they made friends and seemed to get better. Hermione seemed to be… quite happy to remain as she was. She bet it was her muggle heritage. She knew that when Hermione came to Hogwarts with the muggle medications and a letter from her grandfather that she would be trouble. Madame Pomfrey hadn’t thought it would be this much however. 

“I’m not hungry.” 

And she had no will to eat, and no will to listen to Poppy’s lecture about eating either. 

She didn’t take the potion Poppy gave her, having dropped it when a Slytherin rammed into her and laughed. It crashed to the floor, breaking open and she watched it for a moment sliding on the floor and then kept walking. She could have repaired it, could have done anything, but she didn’t. She didn’t return to the Great Hall or the library, content to find and empty corridor that no one walked through to sit down and read in peace. It doesn’t take long to get lost in the pages, less time than it takes for the end of dinner bell to chime. She walked up the stairs to her bedroom. She bathed, crawled into bed and settled herself for a long night of reading, perhaps dozing off, perhaps not. 

She did doze off eventually, startling awake at the sound of screaming in her dreams. The weeks went on that way, bleeding into a near month before Minerva pulled her aside after her Transfiguration class and into her office. She’d known it wouldn’t be long, she’d been so unsteady on her feet that it had been quite a feat that she’d managed the transfiguration in class. Minerva, unlike some of the other professors, kept a close eye on the students. She’d known something was wrong with Hermione all of a few days in when the girl refused to raise her hand for anything after a steady streak of raising her hand for everything. Hermione looked at her flatly as she called a House Elf to deliver a set of letters and bring up some food. 

The Elf reappeared with a plate of food. 

“I’ve had the Headmaster get in touch with your parents,” Minerva said. “Your grandfather will be here tonight to hopefully talk some sense into you, dear girl. You’ll make yourself sick like this.”

Hermione looked at her plainly as Minerva sighed. 

“Please,” she said. “Eat.”

Hermione looked at the plate of food, the smell of it not stroking anything, but nausea in her and making her eyes burn.  She wanted to curl up and disappear. 

“Professor McGonagall?”

She looked up, “Stay right here, Miss Granger.”

She swept around the table towards the door to answer it. It was a summons from Dumbledore to bring Hermione up to his office to wait for Hermes to arrive. When Minerva returned, she found Hermione having not moved a muscle towards eating or leaving.  She led Hermione down the corridor towards Albus’s office and watched the Gargoyle hop aside. When she turned, she found Hermione on the ground, unconscious. Her brown skin a bit fever-flushed beneath the mass of her hair. Her hand twitching intermittently. 

It seemed that her body had finally given out. 

Minerva’s heart jumped, kneeling to check her pulse, her temperature and calling up the stairs for Albus before levitating Hermione towards the Infirmary.  Students gasped, chatting among themselves as they walked past. It’s something like a spectacle, but no one says much of anything as she floated past and into the Infirmary. Poppy makes the bed as comfortable as possible, but there isn’t much she can do besides pour potions down her throat.


	3. Down To Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wakes up and gets a much-needed visit from her grandfather and perhaps a little faith int he Gryffindor House.

Hermione woke up hours later with Hermes sitting at her bedside, a hand in hers and worried. 

“Pappoús?” Hermione asked weakly. 

“Mikros,” he soothed looking at her, stroking her hair. “Uncanny, no?”

She swallowed moving to sit up and he pressed a hand on her shoulder, “Shh, we need to talk, mikros.”

Hermione looked at him and then towards the blankets over her, “About what?”

“You haven’t been completely honest in your letters, have you, Mia?”

She shook her head as he let out a breath. He leaned over to the table where food was set out. 

“Eat, Mia,” he said helping her to sit up, setting pillows behind her. “You need to eat.”

“I… I’m not,” she struggled with the words and the burning in her eyes. “I…”

He looked at her and watched it in pieces, her falling to pieces and confused. She’d gone too long without rest, without food, and without proper medicine too. It chilled him and pissed him off all at the same time. They promised to take care of her, promised that she’d be cared for and here she was no better than her years in London hopping between doctors who settled on the first diagnosis that came to mind. He set the tray aside and moved to join her on the cot, pulling her against him. 

“ _ Talk to me, _ ” he said the familiar greek pouring over her sense, soothing her and at once breaking her resolve to keep it to herself. 

The tears came, the sobbing and struggling Greek. How perfectly horrible it had all been since arriving at Hogwarts, how she’d tried to be strong, but more often than not it was a struggle to just put something in her mouth. How the potions made her feel like she was heading into an episode and how much she hated it. 

“My parents hate me because I’m all messed up and --and--”

“Mikros,” he said gently, stroking her head. “Your parents don’t hate you. Sure, they haven’t done the best with everything, but they do what they think is best for because they love you.”

Hermione shook her head, burying her face in his shoulder.

“She won’t even talk to me…” she said. “Like it’s easier to trade letters because she doesn’t have to look at how much of a freak I am.”

Hermes stiffened at the word and made her look at him, cupping her chin and formulating his words carefully. 

“You are not a freak,” he said. “My brilliant, Mia. Your mother loves you. She wants to be there for you, wants to hear from you--you should see her when I tell her not to write to you every hour. She frets, Mia.”

She sniffled as he wiped her tears. 

“She comes home and stays in your old room, writing stacks and stacks of letters because she can’t just call you. I won’t even mention your father who has been put on a strict one letter every three days regimen.”

Hermione’s jaw trembled, “Really?”

He sighed, his daughter and her husband had been frightful about their little girl since the first incident, in a state of panic, rushing her to any doctor that seemed remotely promising as they could fix her teeth, but not make her feel better. Struggling when Hermione couldn’t express herself very well and really had no will to do so.

“You know she started to brush up on her Greek? Your Dad, too.”

She sniffed, "Really?”

Hermes nodded and grabbed the plate, “Eat and I’ll tell you more. Just a few bites okay?”

Hermione nodded and sniffled lifting a warm potato to her lips and eating. She wondered who he had to threaten or beg to get her Greek food this far north, settled against him and breathing in the familiar scent of olive oil on his skin and the Mediterranean wind.  She managed a piece of pita, a strip of lamb, and another potato before her body caught up with the fact that she was starving. He smiled at her indulgently, watching her eat, relieved. Getting her to eat was always the hardest part, once that was done, the rest came easily. 

Monica Apostrophes had all but shed her Greek heritage when she left home after her mother died. Hermes had let her go with gritted teeth to England. It had taken a long time before she was ready to come home to see him and even still she struggled. Hermione had taken to being careful about speaking English around her as she always had a certain kind of melancholy in her eyes when she spoke Greek. 

“She thought it would make you more comfortable,” he said. 

“She doesn’t… think I’m a disappointment?”

Hermes shook his head, “They love you to bits and pieces, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure the only reason that I’m here instead of them is because I’m retired and they aren’t.”

She laughed a bit, continuing to eat until she was full, feeling a little more settled. 

“If you want to come home,” Hermes started. “It is an option, Mia…”

She worried her lip, “I… I don’t think I should. I don’t belong there… I don’t really belong here either, but at least I’m not… a freak here.”

_ At least not in the same way. _

“Nonsense,” he said. “My Mia belongs anywhere she well pleases and I believe you have a couple of spells to make sure people know it.”

Hermione smiled up at him sighing.

“It’s hard,” she said softly. “I wonder… if this was a good idea or not.”

“Are you frightened, Mia?”

She nodded. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being frightened. You’re twelve years old. I’m as ancient as dust and I get scared.”

She snorted, “I doubt it.”

“I’m scared that one day you’ll never want to come back to the non-wand waving side and visit me,” he said. “Afraid you’ll leave us all behind…”

_ Just like your mother had,  _ it’s something he doesn’t say but he knows from the way she squeezes him that she understands.

“I wouldn’t, pappoús,” she said with a sigh. “Who else is going to roast lamb the way you do?”

He laughed and tickled her, “That’s what I’m good for, huh? Lamb roasting.”

She laughed, wriggling around until he stopped. In a decidedly better mood, they shared the baklava he’d brought with him on the train up and talked lightly about the fact that Albus had nothing but great things to say about her academic standing, passed on from all of her Professors, even Snape whom Hermione thought for sure hated her with a passion.

“None of them could tell me how you were doing otherwise.” Hermione looked at him, “I'm guessing that's because they either didn't notice or expected you to bounce out of it.”

Hermione had never given them any reason not to think so since it was so very obvious that the wizarding world had little understanding of mental illness where magic wasn't involved. They took it as quirks and eccentricities rather than the potentially destructive force and everyday battle it could be. Then again, wizards really had a loose sense of time with their Time-Turners and spells. Who cares if you couldn’t get up for a week, you could go back and relive those moments whenever you felt better.

“I'll let her know, mikros. For now, get some rest okay? I'll be here for the weekend it seems.”

Hermione nodded leaning back, comforted by his presence and whatever calming potion had laced her drink.

“Pumpkin juice? Apple wasn't good enough?”

She chuckled, “I don't really care for it.”

Hermes nodded and held her hand as she dozed off. Poppy returned to deal with the muggle man’s sleeping arrangements and to take note of what he had to say about Hermione’s potions. She wasn't sure if it was his tone or the words he used but she took the warning to heart: fix it, let her take the pills, or he'd find somewhere else to send her as Hogwarts was not the only school that had come to claim Hermione, they just happened to be the closest to her parents. This was a detail that Hermes had not shared with her parents as he was put down as her official guardian, being retired and having far more freedom with which to tend to tend any issues.

Hermione woke up to a new potion custom made for her and another plate of Greek food. Her grandfather was apparently not one to be denied. He stayed with her the weekend making sure to keep an eye on her and her wellness, being the person between her and Poppy to make sure her potions weren't causing unnecessary stress for Hermione. He even managed to twist her hair and tame it into a bun while giving her a distinctly loving care package from him and her parents. Sunday night, he hugs her tight at the entrance to Hogwarts before dinner.

“Write to me for anything, Mia,” he said stroking her hair and kissing her cheek. “Mikros.”

She nodded, “I will, pappoús.”

“Trounce them?”

“Always. Tell them they can write as much as they want.”

He nodded and warned her not to regret that statement later. He kissed her head and followed Hagrid out. She took a deep breath and turned taking the familiar pathway to the Great Hall and entering. For a moment, they're all quiet staring at her, but she took a breath and walked to the end of the Gryffindor table to take a seat as if they weren't staring at her. She filled her plate, pulled out her book and ate without paying attention.

“Uhm, hello?”

She looked up to see a dark-haired boy with eyes that felt familiar. She thought about the woman in the cauldron shop.

“Uhm… I'm in Charms with you.”

“I know. Hello, Harry.”

He blinked, “You know who I am?”

“You're friends with Ron and Seamus.”

He winced at that, “Erm… well, yes. Anyway, I told Professor Flitwick that I'd give you this...since you weren't in class…”

He held out a piece of parchment to her. She glanced at it and then to his face.

“It's… the one that was for you. I could explain how the Hermes Charm works...if you want.”

Hermione licked her lips, glanced down the table where people were staring at them, and shook her head, “No need, but… thank you, Harry.”

She took the parchment from his hand and turned back to her book.

“Uhm… what are you reading?”

“Standard Book of Spells Level Four.”

He blinked and nodded turning away before stopping and turning back. 

“He was lying.”

Hermione looked up at him. 

“When… he called you insufferable,” Harry said. “He… he can be harsh… but… he’s not always like that and... well, it’s nice to have someone who isn’t… afraid to answer, who's actually prepared for class. So... don’t let him make you feel like it’s not… He’s not very good when it comes to being here...”

Hermione blinked as he flushed red and turned, “Right, I’ll um… let you get back to your book.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said a slight smile over her just a bit too large front teeth. “I think… I needed to hear that.”

Harry nodded, “Gryffindors should stick together.”

Hermione nodded slowly and watched him head back to his group of friends. She turned back to her book with an odd sort of smile before looking at the parchment in her hand. Sealed with a dollop of black wax. 

She opened it and breathed.

_ Dragonheart, _ she thought curiously. It was probably a translation, or maybe not, from the way the letter was written, the person who wrote it clearly didn’t speak English as a first language, but it was definitely written in English. Upon further inspection, she felt something while reading the words on the page, just a feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on. All she was pretty certain of was that the writer was male, definitely older but not by more than two or three years. 

_ Hello,  _

_ I am from place called Lozengradtsi, Bulgaria. You have probably never heard of it. Is just on edge of Bulgarian-Greek border near muggle station Makaza. Have six brothers, all older than me. Forgive bad English-- is seventh language. Bulgarian and Greek are first. Family from Istanbul teach me Turkish, learn Romanian from comrade at school. Norwegian and Italian from other comrades. Russian from tutor. I am happy to meet you, whoever you are. From what professor say, we have three years to know each other. Am glad to make friend in another country. _

_ Tell me about you, _

_ Dragonheart _


	4. Dragonheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Viktor Krum.

“Viktor!”

He looked up seeing Vlad cross the room carrying his bag along with Ivan and Boris, his brothers. The five of them all have a certain way about them that never failed to make him smile. They were really his only friends at Durmstrang as his brothers had left behind quite the legacy before they’d graduated, as had his father, his uncles, and even his grandparents from what he understood of the family.

“Come, the letters have arrived. Karkaroff is rather impatient to get this done.”

“I hope whoever I get paired with is not an idiot… Imagine conversing with an idiot for three years?”

Viktor snorted standing to follow them. They chat about the Quidditch season, rumors about professional scouts coming to watch them play. As they reach the main hall, he isn’t surprised to see the entire school talking amongst themselves with a curious and excited air. Correspondence with people who were to be their rivals in three years. Viktor only hoped that he’d have a chance to meet them in three years time, assuming that he still felt that way. He took a seat at his usual table, ordered by year. Durmstrang was a small school situated in the icy north of Norway. The winters were bitter, the summers were infrequent and short and it was a far cry from the warmth of Bulgaria. 

He never stayed over the summer, quite happy to Floo home from Skarsvag as soon as he was able to. Karkaroff took his usual place in the front of the hall, calling for their attention and telling them that they would come up in order to receive their letters. Some of them would get multiple letters depending on their magical abilities, some would only receive one, or none if no one was found to be magically compatible with them that year. For those graduating, they would be allowed to continue correspondence with the person if they chose to. They started calling the upperclassmen first. 

“What is this all for again?” Boris asked. 

“The Triwizard Tournament in three years time. We will bring the trophy home to Durmstrang.”

Viktor’s lip twitched, perhaps. 

“Krum.”

He stood up heading to the front to reach inside the box. There was only one letter for him there. Sealed neatly with a dollop of red wax. He opened it curiously and was met with some of the neatest handwriting he’d ever seen.  There’s something about the feeling radiating from the letter that tells him that the letter is from a girl, something about the way the latent magic in the writing, the intent, and formulation of the sentences that feels feminine. The words aren’t flowery, but precise, concise and an obvious attempt to sound friendly. He almost felt bad for her as he did not think his letter gave the same feeling.

_ Hello,  _

_ It is very nice to meet you. I hope you’re from somewhere far more interesting than I am. I’m from Oxford, England, but my parents are not. I still have yet to figure out what made them move so far north given where they are originally from. I spent most of my childhood with my grandfather in Greece. I’m named after my grandfather, and it is perhaps a very large part of why he dotes on me so. He tells me often that though I am named for him, I am most like my grandmother. I have no idea what language you speak, but if English isn’t the easiest, I’m fluent in Greek, German, French, Arabic, Latin, and Old English if that helps any. The last two are a joke of course, though I have no way of knowing if you find it funny. In case you’re curious, my pseudonym is a portmanteau of the two things I think make up the majority of my personality: books and logic. _

_ I hope we can be good friends,  _

_ Biblio-logical _

He smiled, tilting his head at the words, before folding the letter back up and walking to class. It doesn’t take long to hear from Aleksandr that his correspondent seems a bit daft, or illiterate. Angel is only grinning, waving her hands, free from any letter. They glower at her.

“Lucky,” Ivan said shoving his letter in his pocket. “What about you Viktor?”

He shrugged, “At least I may not have to write letters in English ever again.”

“Oh?”

“She’s fluent in Greek and German.”

“She? How do you know it’s a she.”

He hummed, “I… it is just a feeling.”

Angel regarded him strangely before nodding. “We should get going to class. You know who hates late students.”

He laughed following them towards their next class with a sigh. The lesson is simple enough, Dark Arts always was and the day passed on until they were outside after classes and a scream came through the air. They turned to see the bustle of a fight happening.

“What are you doing?”

“Stay out of it, Krum.”

His eyes narrowed recognizing the group as the same group of students who’d thought wearing the insignia of Grindelwald was a good idea. The same group that he, Boris, Ivan, and Alexander had taught a lesson to just last year. 

“You must need a reminder of last year. Let him go.”

They sneered at him but did as he said, dropping the boy to the ground and leaving. Viktor kneeled at his side, moving to get him up and onto his back as gently as possible. 

“I’m too--”

“I will take you to the infirmary. What happened?”

The boy was a scorekeeper for the Quidditch team, part of the reason that one of their friends didn’t make the team as a beater after letting their seeker get badly injured. They’d been trying to get a Seeker for weeks before the game in January but to no avail. 

“We haven’t been able to find anyone who can fly fast enough to catch the snitch.” He sighed as Viktor set him down and let the school healer patch him up.

“You should try out,” Ivan said, clapping Viktor on the shoulder.

“I have no interest in it,” Viktor said turning away. His father had been a Quidditch player in school, a beater from what he remembered. All of his brothers had played as beaters or chasers since trying to live up to the legacy their father had set up at Durmstrang.

“We’ll have to forfeit the next game if we don’t find someone since Ivanov is still unconscious and won’t be able to fly for weeks after.”

“You fly well enough, don’t you? It’s just one game, right?”

Viktor wrinkled his nose, “I…”

Angel nudged him, “Seeker for one game would be much better than a mediocre beater for seasons on end.”

Viktor glowered at her, “I told you, I don’t care about that.”

“Then do it because you want Durmstrang to  _ win _ ,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe your father will actually pay you some attention and see you for who you really are for a change.”

Viktor huffed, leave it to Angel, his dear cousin, to know what to say to get him to do anything. Curse his undying loyalty to the men who had been brothers when he so desperately needed them too. He agreed to try out, not thinking he was particularly gifted on a broom, certainly not gifted enough to be a seeker in place of someone who’d played Quidditch all their lives. Sure, he’d spent most of his life on a broom since his grandmother had taken it upon herself to teach him to fly, to teach him what his namesake had so loved. He had a broom even, a gift from his grandmother, but being able to fly and being a seeker were two different things. She’d taught him to fly because being on the ground was sometimes too hard for the Viktor who only wanted his parent’s approval. He took after his grandfather with his dark features which set him apart from the rest of his brothers and his mother. They were delicate in their beauty, near Grecian Adonis look alike taking after her father… Viktor did not even look much like his own father beside the dark features common to the Krum line. His father's face was cut with gentler strokes while Viktor’s face was all hard angles and cheekbones. 

He was the spitting image of his grandfather, the great Viktorius Krum who'd been killed in the first stage of the war by Grindelwald. It had at once been something that bothered him greatly, but as it became obvious that he would be forever sacked with his less than beautiful features, he took pride in the fact that he was leaps and bounds smarter than his brothers...and better on a broom.

The try-outs were that evening before twilight. Everyone was expected to pass a simple speed test and then there would be a game simulation to see how they did with the chaos of the field. Viktor passed the speed test with more than just a few seconds to spare. 

“All you need to do is find the Snitch, catch the Snitch, and not get knocked off your broom while doing it.”

Viktor winced seeing another student take a bludger to the chest and go crashing to the ground. The two teams developed for the skirmish weren’t playing very nice, but since they were going up against a Norwegian school that was known to put players in St Mungo’s for extensive care, they had to be a bit mean. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” Viktor told Ivan looking up at the players. The last person still crying out in pain from the bludger that had rammed him into a wall.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “We won’t let you get hurt too badly.

He looked between the two and mounted his broom, ascending to the lineup and trying to breathe. This wasn't how he imagined today's time for flying to be spent. A flash of gold in his peripheral caught his attention as the whistle blew and he flew up and out of the way of the bludgers, whirling on his broom until he hung upside down to scan the field. 

“What the hell is he doing?”

Ivan smirked at the question, “Being Viktor.”

“That’s just… unreal.”

Ivan grinned watching Viktor dive down from the slow arc, straight through the fray, barely missing the quaffle and bludgers’ path across the field and pulling up to make a tight turn. He stood on the crossbar of his broom, holding his body up as the broom shot straight up towards the glint of gold. He stepped left, swinging his body around the broom to avoid a bludger sliding down to avoid another until he just hung on his crossbars and let go to grab onto the broomstick and tilt the broom beneath him, swinging up to straddle it, spin and change directions to follow the glint of gold. 

The Snitch dove, but Viktor was close enough to swing down, holding his body up by just his legs and swipe the Snitch out of the air as the broom flew. The wings fluttered and folded in on itself. He remained hanging from his broom as it coasted around the pitch and contemplated the Snitch in his hand. So much work and hassle for this tiny golden ball? He looked down to the pitch where the team captain stared up in disbelief.

“How is he doing that?”

“Viktor was practically born on a broom,” Angel said. “That isn’t something he inherited from his father either.”

No, from the pictures, Viktor flew like the old Wing as he was called. Viktorius Krum hadn't ever played a day of Quidditch in his life, but he'd been an exceptional Auror for Bulgaria. Angel bet that if Viktorius had decided to play Quidditch, there would have been a very different legacy in the family for Viktor to live up to.

The broom descended slowly as Viktor pulled himself up and swung his leg over his broomstick so he straddled his broom backward, hunching forward as he looked at the golden ball in his hand. 

“Well… you fly like that and you might end up being our Seeker for the rest of your time at Durmstrang!”

Viktor looked at the captain who beamed at him then to Ivan and Angel.

“The Old Wing would be proud.”

Viktor grinned at her and swing himself off the broom, floating to the ground. Yes, Viktor had inherited his wings from his namesake.

“Do you think grandma will be okay?”

“I think she’s been waiting for a reason to come to see you,” Angel said with a shrug. “This is as good as any.”


	5. You're The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione makes friends, who cares if she doesn't actually know the name of one of them?

Come January, it was quite obvious that while Gryffindor would win the Quidditch Cup with Harry as their new seeker, they would not be so lucky with the house Cup as Hermione was still on proverbial strike even after spending the Holiday with her grandfather galavanting around the magical side of Athens. They'd picked up new quills, more ink and anything else she was out of and spent the rest of the time taking the sights, trying wizarding pastries and the like. Her parents had come for just the holiday and went back at the end of the week for work. He'd said crush them and she did, even with her issues and a few slip ups in her potions with the Quidditch season, she had maintained her top of the class standing in all classes. She was still rather friendless, Harry being the only one to talk to her besides the upperclassmen who needed the books she had or Neville who was more or less in the same weird boat as her. She found a friend in Luna Lovegood, who while strange always had interesting things to say. She’d met Luna while running around in the rain one May afternoon. It was an entirely muggle thing that no one really understood, but Luna had joined her saying she heard that there were Clarins in the rain. A mystical type of tiny creature that enjoyed having people to play with. They met in the rain every time sometimes just to run around, sometimes to practice their water manipulation.  

And then there was Dragonheart who honestly was probably the only reason she got through the days when Madame Pomfrey just hadn't had time to make her potions due to the influx of Quidditch injuries. They wrote in Greek or German depending on the day and sometimes they'd teach each other things in other languages, from books they'd read. They talked about everything that they could and wouldn’t give away where they were though they could guess.

When Hermione had come back from the break, it seemed that she’d taken to heart Severus’s words about being a know-it-all and quite frankly kept her mouth shut even when professors desperately needed someone to say the answer. 

“Hermione?”

She looked up to see Neville coming to sit across from her, “Hello Neville.”

“I… I don’t mean to be a bother and I wouldn’t ask really since I know… how you feel about P-Professor Snape, but…”

Hermione gave him a kind smile and closed the book she was reading, “What can I help you with Neville?”

*

“Mr. Longbottom,” Severus began in that drawl of his. Hermione worried her lip from a few stations down. 

“Tell me what is the proper order to add the four main ingredients of the Warts Potion.”

Neville swallowed and Hermione breathed giving him an encouraging nod as he stared up at his worst fear.

“C-Crushed s-snake fangs, s-sliced sheep b-bladder, one rat tail, spider jam and then the last two rat tails…”

Severus blinked as Hermione grinned uncontrollably, “Well… it seems you have been at the least  _ attempting _ to improve.”

He walked away to terrorize a different student as Hermione gave him another nod and Neville panted, breathing out his moment of absolute terror. Studying with Hermione had apparently been paying off. When class ended, she found Neville leaning against the wall. 

“You did it!” Hermione cheered, nudging him. “I told you you could.”

“Now… I just have to get something better than a Poor on my essay.”

Hermione nudged, “Don’t worry, Neville, you’ll do just fine.”

To his surprise, when he opened his scroll after the next class, there isn’t the usual “P” or “A” at the top of the scroll but an “E” in fact with only a few minor corrections on his page. 

“Hermione,” he said. “You’re a magician.”

She laughed, “I’m actually just a witch and you don’t give yourself enough credit. He makes you nervous so you freak out, that’s all.”

He nodded slowly and headed to the next class with a promise to meet at the library after dinner. 

For once, it isn’t Neville’s cauldron that explodes or melts through in Potions though she can tell by Severus’s tone that he wasn’t expecting it to be a member of the Slytherin house. She wondered how much it  _ pained _ him to have to deduct points from his own house and spare the Gryffindors for an entire class. 

“What’s been going on with you Neville?” Seamus asked. “It’s been  _ weeks _ since you’ve screwed up in Potions.”

“Hermione’s been helping me.”

“Granger?” Ron asked with a snort. “Shouldn’t be surprised she does spend all of her time with her moldy old books.”

“Don’t talk about her that way,” Neville said looking at Ron. “You don’t know anything about her.”

Seamus laughed, “Sounds like Neville’s got a crush on Sabertooth Granger.”

“Yeah, why else be so defensive?”

“Because she’s a nice person and she doesn’t deserve to be insulted by you.”

Seamus’s eyes widened as Ron’s jaw dropped. Harry came up behind them as Neville turned to leave them behind. 

“Doesn’t matter, even if we don’t lose all of our points because of Neville, we’ll still lose.”

Harry shrugged, “At least there’s the Quidditch Cup.”

“Yeah…”

As usual, Hermione sat at the end of the table with a book propped up, reading quietly and occasionally putting food in her mouth. It was always the same food too: whatever was closest, not greasy, and generally easy to eat without much attention. Harry thought it odd to see someone so uninterested in food, seeing eating as more of a chore than a chance to enjoy the food… 

Then again, Severus ate that way sometimes, his mother too, when they were busy sitting across from one another talking about something Lily was working on for the Ministry, picking Severus’s potion brain. Sometimes they would just… say things to one another without being prompted and it being exactly what the other needed. Lily told him that it was the power of soulmates, that Lily and Severus were soulmates, bound forever. He’d been… so confused as to why it was Severus and not his father, the late James Potter. Why she’d married his father if Severus was her soulmate? Why Severus was alive and his father was dead…

How could she be okay knowing that her soulmate had been a death eater? 

_ Your father and I, we loved each other, Harry… but in all honesty, what kept us together were things that shouldn’t keep any two people together.  _

She always said it was complicated to explain how you could love someone who was not your soulmate, how you could see yourself without your soulmate, but he didn’t think he’d ever understand. It had been hard growing up with Severus and his own brand of… aloofness. Lily had tried to explain that Severus was not nearly as cold as he appeared to be, though more or less incapable of inflection and the normal show of emotion, he did  _ feel _ them in blinding flashes--a symptom of having suppressed his emotions so long as a triple agent during the war. He’d gotten better over the years, but it still wasn’t the same as Sirius or Remus. He could go flying with Sirius and Remus, they laughed and talked with him, held him when he cried… He and Severus had yet to find something they could truly bond over in all the years that he’d lived with them. Sure, Severus was always the one to make sure his wounds had been healed properly after fumbling around with Remus and Sirius, but it wasn’t the same as a well felt hug.

“Attention everyone!” Dumbledore called across the hall earning, mostly everyone’s attention. Hermione didn’t bother to look up, already split between making sure not to bite her fingers and still understand the words on the page. 

“It has come to my attention that there has been some discontent with the structure of House Points. An emphasis has been placed on participation in classes and quidditch as the only way to contribute meaningfully to the house points. After much discussion with the staff, we’ve decided to revive an old Hogwarts tradition in an effort to give more students a chance to contribute to the House Cup points.”

A whisper flickered up and down the table and Hermione took the time to look up, eat the rest of her sausage, and grab an apple. 

“This a dueling tournament,  teams will be formed one from each level to face off in a series of dueling contests. Your House Heads will be speaking with you all tonight about nominating team members as the competitions will happen just after the final Quidditch match of the year.”

With announcements over, Hermione grabbed her book and vacated the hall, heading to the library still reading her book. It was about time for Dragonheart’s letter to arrive and she wanted to be somewhere quiet to read it. As she settled into her usual seat in the library, the letter appeared on top of her open pages. She smiled and opened it, delighted that it was a rather long letter. 

“Hermione!”

Madame Pince hissed the person to be quiet before a group of footsteps came around the corner, wandering the library to search for her. 

“Where on earth could she be?”

“We should have asked Neville to come with us.”

“It can’t be that hard to find one girl in this place.”

“Split up.”

Hermione smiled and laughed quietly at the letter. Apparently, he’d been trying to teach an underclassmen to fly, but the boy had such a fear of heights that it was turning out to be impossible. 

_ I don’t believe he will ever get more than a few feet off the ground without screaming, but I keep trying so he can pass his class. He is very brave, but very scared and I’m not sure what to say to him. My grandmother taught me to fly when I was-- _

“Hermione!”

She looked up at the call of her name and looked over to see Harry, flushed from running perhaps. He called back that he’d “found her” and approached the table. 

“Hello Harry,” Hermione said. “Are you alright?”

“We… need to talk. We’re having a meeting in the Gryffindor common room with Professor McGonagall.”

Hermione sighed looking longingly at her letter before folding it up and following him out of the library. The others had gone ahead leaving them to walk back to the tower, her reading her book as they walked along seemingly ignoring him and he swallowed. 

“It’s pretty crazy, yeah?”

“What is?” She asked turning a page and walking up the moving stairs.

“The new contest.”

“What new contest?” She asked.

“Weren’t… you listening at dinner?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t have any interest in the House Cup.”

“But… why?” Harry asked. “I mean… you don’t want us to win?”

Hermione looked at him over the top of her book, “This… may surprise you Harry, but Gryffindor House isn’t exactly  _ kind _ to me. What interest should I have in a collection of individuals I was sorted with because I have courage but have shown themselves to be cowardly?”

Harry gaped at her, but couldn’t answer for a moment, instead he asked if she’d been brave. Where the question came from he had no idea. She gave him a thoughtful and almost amused look. It made him think of Severus right before he told Harry that he’d asked a question he already had the answer to. 

Hermione looked at him, “I think stepping, more or less, alone into the wizarding world coming from a strictly muggle one could be considered pretty brave.”

Not to mention enduring months of bullying with her head held high, managing to keep her grades at the top of the class despite the mishandling of her medication and the harsh nature of Hogwarts’ social climate. Yes, she’d say she’d been brave and now she was just very tired, happy to skate by pretty much undetected until her seventh year.

“But you’re always in your books,” Harry said. “The only reason we’re talking right now is because I asked you a question.”

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t the Slytherins who started “Sabertooth Granger”, or “Bushy-Haired Know-It-All” or… anything else most of the Gryffindor House called me.”

Harry winced, knowing that Ron was actually to blame for some of those. 

“ _ Mental _ ,” Hermione said flatly, looking at him with that completely untouchable gaze. Harry flinched getting rather uncomfortable under Hermione’s gaze. “I think in terms of  _ trying _ to be brave, I’ve done the gambit.”

Harry winced trying to think of something else to say. 

“Is it brave to pick on someone?”

“Well… no, but...”

“But?” She asked as the stairs stopped. 

“My Mom… always told me that being brave was more like… always getting back up.”

Hermione looked at him.

“Even when it seems hopeless.”

“Did she tell you what being tired was like?”

He blinked as the staircase stopped.

“It’s like a weight that only gets heavier the longer you drag it along,” she said and stood straight carrying her book. “Heavier and heavier until you can’t even move.”

He followed her up the rest of the stairs. 

“Well… that’s why you have friends,” Harry said. 

“That’s why you have friends,” Hermione said. “Perhaps. I have books. Neville and Luna don’t care that I couldn’t care less about the House Cup, or if I never comb my hair. How big my teeth are, how many books I read. Those are friends. When I’m tired, they give me time to be so, words of encouragement, patience and understanding.”

“If they were friends, then they’d tell you to be brave.”

“They do,” she said. “It takes a lot more to be okay with being on the outside than constantly trying to force your way in, or falling in so you’re accepted. _ That’s _ bravery.”

Harry swallowed following her to the portrait. She gave the Fat Lady the password and walked in to take a seat at the back of the room while Harry stood near the portrait hole. His eyes followed Hermione through the crowd trying to figure out what she was getting at. 

“We’ll be having proper dueling classes in the weeks ahead and will select our best duelists for the job. Everyone will have their fair chance to participate as dueling etiquette is something that all witches and wizard should know.”

Harry looked to Hermione as the announcement was over and everyone began to split up. Hermione walked towards the table to take a seat, Neville joined her and he swallowed walking forward.

“Mind if I join you?”

“What are you doing Harry? I thought we were going to play Exploding Snap.” Ron asked coming up beside him.

“I’d… rather be brave instead.”

Harry offered Hermione a weak smile which she wasn’t sure how to interpret given who he was, but she said nothing as he joined the table, pulling out his potions homework and beginning to work, listening to Hermione explain things to Neville.

“How do you do that?”

Hermione looked at Harry, ”What?”

“Explain it so well?” Harry asked. “Not just Potions but...Charms too.”

“I read a lot, beyond what's asked of me,” she said. “And I read it in different languages.”

“I didn't know you spoke something else,” Neville said looking at her in shock.

“Greek is my first language, English is a close second.”

Harry blinked, “That's really cool.”

Hermione shrugged, “Means I really have to know it and explaining it helps me remember.”

Neville told her she was beyond a godsend. His grandmother would have a fit if he failed his courses. Harry, being Gryffindor brave, asked what he thought was an obvious question, one that should have probably been in his notes already, but wasn't.  Hermione directed him to the place in the book and explained the answer rather calmly. For the first time, Harry went to bed with his homework done and didn't have to stay up with Ron and the others to try and figure it out. It was... rather nice.

Hermione on the other hand got to bed and opened her letter rather than her newest book. She scanned to find where she left off.

_ My grandmother taught me to fly when I was two years old. She was on the broom with me. She'd take me flying and then lead me around on the broom by myself. It was the happiest time of my life. She lives in Greece in a muggle neighborhood in Athens and works for the Greek Ministry as a Spell Breaker. She comes from a family of broom makers but she only does it as a hobby.  I try to spend as much time in the summer as I can with her as going home has no such joy beyond the library. She told me that it’s been passed down through my grandfather’s family since the first daughter of the line. _

_ I've spent most of my free time on a broom, reading high above the city. It's peaceful. I think you would like it since you say it is hard for you to quiet your mind. Flying on a broom is a feeling more than a science. You know the first broom was made by a woman to save a child from a tree? Brooms now are more utilitarian, but they all react to feeling.  _

_ I am sorry that your dorm mates are not kind to you.  At my school, we do not have dorm rivalry, we are all students of the same school and there is no division based on where in the castle you live. Have you no one to talk to? With a mind like yours, I can't imagine you not having friends. You have a warm heart I can tell. Perhaps one day they will see it too and they will be sorry for not meeting you as you are rather than what you look like. I look nothing like my siblings or very much like anyone at school, so I understand sticking out, but in time I think people grow up and learn that those that look different are people to be embraced just like anyone else.  _

_ As for your snake problem, I would suggest a well placed hex, perhaps one to make him hiss instead of speak for a full day? Or give him scales. Your dorm mates, I have no idea for, but perhaps if you waged war on them, perhaps if you fight back, they would leave you alone? It is hard for me to understand why they treat you so badly. It does not seem that you have done anything to deserve it. Should you chose to take my advice, I’ve included a list of titles that may come in handy for you. _

_ I hope your exams go well, at the very least better than mine. I have studied all I can, yet I feel as though it is not enough.  I thank you for your advice, the books were very helpful. I did not even know we had them in the library, it was a nice surprise. _

_ As for Quidditch, I am unfortunately expected to continue playing. The sport is growing on me, if only because it lets me practice flying, but I do it more because of my parents. I don’t mean to be so personal, but I think I know you well enough through our letters to say this. I am the youngest boy and all of my brothers have been beaters or chasers. My father was a beater in school, but my grandfather who I am named after was a brilliant flyer. He was an Auror. They called him “Wing”.  My grandmother says that I inherited more than a name and his looks, but his skill on a broom as well.  _

_ I have never fit in with my family, inheriting my looks from my grandfather while my brothers took after my mother’s side of the family. I do not even look much like my father beyond the color of my hair, so I stand out in the house. I never had much interest in Quidditch and as I’ve said I only played because our Seeker was injured and my cousin being the way she is. I didn’t think it would make a difference. _

_ But it did.  _

_ My first game was just a few days ago. We won, but that did not matter to me. I can’t explain the way he looked at me. I had only told my grandmother in hopes that she would be there, but he was there. Our High Master is an old friend of his, I suppose he told him as he works in the Quidditch department for the Ministry of Magic. I saw him in the stands when we took to the air and he had such a strange expression at the calling of my name. I think he was surprised, maybe? I am not sure, but the look only continued to change as the game progressed.  _

_ I’m embarrassed to say that I was injured and our opponents were rather ruthless, but when I caught the snitch, I didn’t really feel anything about it, still so at peace in the air though I could hear everyone screaming with excitement. When I saw him after the game, my father hugged me. I know this might sound strange to you since you are so very used to parental affection, but I can’t remember the last time my father actually hugged me. He told me that he was proud of me. He’s never said that for anything before: grades, dueling, anything…  _

_ My grandmother told me that it’s because he was never good enough on a broom to be a seeker and I was the first seeker in the family. My mother told me she was proud of me too and then they went off to speak with my High Master and I went to the Infirmary.  _

_ Is it wrong perhaps to want to play for just their approval? It hurts to think that nothing else I can do will make him happy, but it is still a chance to have what I’ve only ever wanted from my parents. Is it wrong to want that? I wonder still if it will be enough in the end.  _

_ I don’t know. I don’t have an answer for it. I can’t really wrap my head around the way I feel or how I should feel about it. For now, the school is cheering my name for the win, the Quidditch captain is hoping to keep me on, and I think my High Master is plotting something, but I am not sure. _

_ I am sorry if this letter was a bit too personal, but I have no one else besides Angel to speak about this with and I don’t think she’d understand my conflict with it. _

_ Best, _

_ Dragon Heart _

She worried her lip and turned the parchment over to pen her own letter as seemed to be their way of doing things.


	6. You're The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More letters are traded.

Viktor came back from practice, exhausted with adrenaline still rushing through his veins. They’d put him on a rather dangerous obstacle course, in between the beaters and chasers accuracy and flight practice. He wasn’t sure if it was because his upperclassmen resented him a bit, or if they wanted to make sure that he would be okay against the german team the would be playing. 

Either way, he’d never been so grateful for his grandmother’s training, sure that it was the only reason that he hadn’t been knocked off his broom, no matter what they’d thrown at him. 

He opened his eyes and grinned, reaching for the floating letter above his face, his own greek handwriting on the outside. He didn’t know if she would have time to respond to him so soon. 

Everyone else wasn’t convinced of their correspondents gender, but Viktor felt it in his heart. Her handwriting was always neat and the parchment always smelled of old books and ink.

He smiled at the ink fingerprints, it seemed that she’d had an exam that day, or perhaps she had just finished writing an essay. He smiled and looked at his own hands. His fingerprints would overlap hers by a rather large margin, he imagined she had small delicate hands, graceful fingers meant for instruments. Why her letters never seemed to be sealed with anything more than a dollop of wax he had no idea, but didn’t dwell on it as he opened it  and began to read. 

_ Congratulations on your win! I bet you were amazing! Serves them right for injuring you, I do hope you’re taking care of yourself. Quidditch season at my school always results in the Infirmary being overrun.  _

_ Two? You have to joking. I can’t imagine a toddler being on a broom! But something tells me that you aren’t joking which means you’re probably more a bird than a person now. Reading on a broom, I couldn’t imagine. How on earth do you keep balanced enough on a broomstick to read? Let alone be relaxed enough to do so above the city.  _

_ I have tried flying and while I passed my lessons it is not something I would like to regularly engage in. I can imagine that broomsticks were born out of necessity, but I don’t think any broom of today likes me very much.  Perhaps one day I will be more receptive to the idea, but at the moment I am quite comfortable on the ground.  _

_ Thank you for your words of encouragement, I can’t tell you enough how it feels to know that I’m not alone at feeling on the outside all the time. I’ve… made friends of sorts. There is a girl in another house who goes out into the rain with me, she tells such fantastic stories and actually listens. Then there’s a boy in my house who I’ve grown quite fond of while tutoring him. I think he needs just a bit of encouragement and he’ll be fine. He also doesn’t seem to care that I seem to prefer books to people. _

Viktor frowned at that. He didn’t get that impression from her letters. He pulled down a piece of parchment to write on and kept reading. 

_ There is one boy who I think may be trying to get to know me. We had a very interesting conversation about what being brave meant.  I don’t think he was accusing me of being a coward, but I think it is rather hard for him to understand being on the outside and a different definition of bravery. He’s popular, his mother is a well-known hero from the war, and his stepfather is as well. He’s never had to be brave in the sense of continuing to be yourself.  _

_ I’ve found the books you’ve suggested and my how interesting some of these hexes are. I’m pretty sure people think I’ve finally given up on people reading a book in greek and laughing to myself in the library. Then again, I suppose people would actually have to be in the library when there isn’t a test coming up in order to do so.  Perhaps I will start to fight back, I am not sure though.  _

_ My school has revived a tradition in an attempt to let more students contribute to the points system. Dueling of all things. I suppose it is a contest of wits, but some people are just better at spell theory than spell work. It is a good try if anything, even if it is a little narrow minded and just another sport really. I’ve read enough about it to have an idea, but I think to truly understand it I will have to see it for myself. They’ve added an extra class in place of flying to teach us proper dueling etiquette and start getting together a team of duelists and their seconds. I’d rather not, but I can see that everyone will be expected to chip in on the efforts to wrestle the House Cup away from the currently leading house. But more on that when it all starts I suppose.  _

_ My exams did go very well indeed! Top marks across the board, I think I may have set a new record and agitated the snake more than usual. His godfather is the potions professor,who is also the stepfather of the boy I was talking about. The two of them have such a rivalry for his approval though they don’t seem to notice that, more concerned about outdoing one another.  I believe they scored about the same on the exam and it irked them to no end to share a class ranking. I pray I never get so annoyed with anyone that the thought of sharing a class spot with them would put me in such a state. No doubt if they have to duel, which I’m sure they will, it will be quite a thing to see. After all, they’re both related to rather well known wizards and witches, and this school is one of legacy. A professor will probably shove them up there to duel expecting their parents to have taught them a thing or two about the sport. They’ll probably do wonderfully and become even more popular than they are now.  _

_ I don’t know what your brothers look like, or what you look like for that matter, but it doesn’t matter. They’re your family and you shouldn’t feel like the odd one out because you look different and they shouldn’t treat you that way either. You deserve better than that, Dragonheart.  _

_ I’m sorry that your parents haven’t given you the kind of attention they should have. That’s terrible, but I’m glad you have your grandmother and your cousins. I can’t imagine what I would do without pappu, I spent most of my life with him after all and while my parents have always tried to be supportive, it’s been hard for them dealing with me. I know I’m not what they expected in a daughter. I know I’m not what they expected in general, but it will get better with time I hope. _

_ From experience, when you do something for someone else without taking anything for yourself out of the act, it’s not selfless. It’s not altruist, it’s putting your life on hold for someone else. It’s ignoring what you need for what someone else wants and it never works out the way you hope.  _

_ When I was younger, I was told I had an illness. No one could really agree what the illness was, but they all agreed that there was something wrong with me. I did my best to be everything my parents wanted, to be normal, to pretend like my illness wasn’t there. I was too young to understand that my illness wasn’t something that I could just pretend away. Everyone thought it was just a blip and moved on, except pappu. I don’t think he was ever really fooled, but he was so far away that there wasn’t ever any real time to press me for answers. _

_ I pretended for almost two years and during that time the thought of pretending another day, another moment, broke me. I resented my parents. I resented pretty much everyone around me.  But I resented myself the most because I just couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t happy. My parents were happy. They were proud of me. Everyone seemed to be doing better when I faked it except for me.  I thought it was just me, that it was just my fault that I couldn’t be happy when everyone else seemed to be. I stopped eating. I couldn’t sleep. I got weak enough that I passed out one day and my parents found out what had been happening. It had been months since I’d eaten a decent meal. I’d gotten thinner, weaker. My pappu said he couldn’t even recognize me when he came to see me to take me to Greece with him to recuperate. It was hard and I know I scared him rather badly some days. I had to decide for myself that making my parents happy shouldn’t be my top priority.  I had to decide to face what was wrong with me and be okay with it. It took a long time and I still struggle with it most days, but I’m pretty sure if I’d kept going the way I had been, I’d probably be dead. _

_ I don’t think it’s wrong to want their approval. I don’t think it’s wrong to play to make them happy if that’s what you want, but it would be a grave disservice to yourself if that’s the only reason you do it. You said you love to fly and as a seeker, as I understand it, flying is your main job. If you do it only for someone else it becomes a chore and I would hate to see the day when your greatest reprieve, your love for the air, becomes a chore. After it’s a chore, you begin to resent it and that is the worst feeling ever. _

_ Take the time to figure it out before it gets to that point. As for your High Master, have you told your grandmother? She seems to be someone in your life who would step in on your behalf if you wanted.  _

_ And nonsense. I hear friends are supposed to be there to be personal with.  I just hope I haven’t freaked you out. I don’t believe I’ve ever told anyone about that, it’s nice to have someone to tell these things to. _

_ Be brave, _

_ Biblio-logical _

He swallowed and jumped as the door opened and his roommate came in. 

“You okay, Viktor?”

He nodded slowly, folding the letter up, “Time for food?”

“Yes, but Karkaroff wants to see you after.”

Viktor nodded slowly, tucking the letter into his robes and following Wolfgang out of the room and into the mess hall. He ate thoughtfully, mulling over Biblio-logical’s words and his own rather confused feelings about it. He liked the team for the most part, his captain was very kind to him, careful to make him feel comfortable, to check on him. The game was fun in that it challenged him to fly harder, faster. It pushed his instincts in ways that just flying over the arctic tundra, or even over the Norwegian Sea couldn’t.

When he walked into Karkaroff’s office, he’s only partially surprised to see his mother and father there, seeing the fourth member of the room is what surprised him. 

“Viktor, this is Sergei Apostolov, he’s the head coach of the Vratsa Vultures.”

“Sir,” Viktor bowed respectfully looking between them and Karkaroff. The man looked smug as he told him to take a seat. 

Sergei told him plainly that he’d been in the stands watching Viktor play. He thought he had talent and in two years his Seeker’s contract would be up. 

“I would like to extend an offer to come try-out for the Vultures at that time,” Sergei said with a calm smile. “You have quite the talent on the broom.”

Viktor’s stomach churned and he looked away. He’d just be seventeen in the middle of the season leading up to the World Cup. 

“I… am flattered, but I don’t think--”

“We will consider it,” his father, Iliya, said gruffly, taking the contract from him. “It is quite sometime away.”

Sergei looked between Iliya and his wife, Aello, before looking at Viktor who looked very much he wanted to disappear before nodded and saying that they’d be in touch closer to the time. Sergei shook Viktor’s hand and left leaving Viktor with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“We’ll have this contract looked over,” Iliya said standing with Aello and leaving without another look in Viktor’s direction. When they leave, Karkaroff tells him how much this will change his life, cajoling him then threatening him to take the deal should his parents agree. 

He returned to his room, feeling sick and uneasy. He grabbed for his broom but couldn’t make himself go flying. 

_ The day when it becomes a chore,  _  Viktor stepped back, going to his writing table and writing furiously to his grandmother, a plea for help, a plea for something anything and sent it, not sure if what he’d written had made any sense. 

He didn’t sleep that night, his future stretching out before him a dark road even as he wrote a reply to Biblio-logical. He didn’t want flight to be a chore, he hadn’t ever given any thought to it being a profession either. It was something he did to calm himself, it shouldn’t cause him stress. It was the one thing that he had complete control over. It seemed to be the only thing in his life that he’d chosen truly. He smiled a bit thinking of watching his grandmother come flying in from town. 

_ Baba, tova, koeto pravite? Mozhe li da? _ he ‘d asked barely standing up on his own at the tender age of barely two years old. 

She’d taken him by the hand inside and told him that she was flying and yes, he could do anything he wanted if he wanted to learn. She’d dressed him for the weather, warming charms, anchored him to herself, to the broom as well and took him up. He’d been hooked ever since. He didn’t want that feeling to turn into resentment.


	7. Fading In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams or visions?
> 
> Gender inequality...
> 
> Hermione is a bad ass motherfucker.

_The wind smells like the Mediterranean, the spices and warm of the coast drifting on the wind. The sun rising slowly in the distance.  In the distance she could almost make out Egypt and its glorious pyramids. She smiles at the feeling of hands on her shoulders, warm lips pressing against her neck and his voice in her ears. She can never make out what he’s saying, but she speaks to him softly, words of care and fear. They had only just found one another, did she have to be prepared to wait for another chance so soon? Could he not stay here with her where it was safe? Could they not just forget the world outside this room?_

_This dream had come again. In which arms wrap around her and a warm body stands behind her, rocking her slowly, gently, settling her back into her skin. He will leave soon, perhaps to never return… perhaps to return victorious, she can never be sure, but it does not matter. They had crossed oceans of time to be together in this lifetime, they could do so again. That did not mean that she wanted to. He kissed her cheek meaningfully and turned to leave._

_“Return to me,” she said not turning to watch him dress and leave. “Return to me.”_

_Whether he agreed or not, she never knows but she can guess that his reply was something along the lines of “Always”. It made her heartache and her eyes burn. It would be the last time she would see him in this lifetime._

Hermione opened her eyes to the sound of Crookshanks purring and sat up, stretching. The rectangle of parchment lying on her other pillow told her that Dragonheart had responded. She always slept best on the nights she dreamt of the Grecian villa of fluttering curtains and strong marble columns. She always woke up up on the edge of crying, but it was always a restful night. She’d read somewhere that, unlike muggles, wizards had a very different relationship to their soul mate. They could have visions, share dreams, sometimes even take a peek into past lives before they’d even met. She wondered if maybe her soul mark just hadn’t appeared yet, or was somewhere strange. She reached for the letter, peaking out of her curtain to estimate the time. Long before dawn, she had plenty of time to read the letter.  She got up, grabbed her potion and got dressed for the day before heading down the stairs towards the Great Hall. It was empty save her, giving her plenty of time read her letter in peace. As usual, Dragonheart had some crazy story to tell her; at least it came with the knowledge that he’d successfully gotten the upper classman he was teaching to pass his class, even if the boy had fainted just after. He would not tell her what his High Master had been planning, but told her that he’d written to his grandmother about it all and hopefully there would be some resolution going forward.

She’s half way through her reply when people start coming into the Great Hall and food begins to appear on the table. Today would be their first dueling class, taking the place in their schedules when flying classes used to be. She managed to get through the day relatively easily before joining the Gryffindors outside. Minerva pulled two groups of seven students, one from each year for the demonstration. Hermione watched them with a small amount of interest, she’d already read on basic dueling etiquette from more of the world. Interesting that Minerva hadn’t picked any girls for the two line-ups.

It took all of a few moments before they were ready. Hogwarts had two dueling types: singles and triples. The objects was to eliminate everyone through disarming or otherwise making them unable to stay on the floor because of injury or physical removal from the dueling strip. They had to leave the dueling strip willingly in order to be subbed in. If they didn’t they were considered still part of the duel. If one side was still on the strip and completely incapacitated they would lose. That particular rule had come from the wizarding battlefield as it was often that wizards would cast containment charms around the area they were dueling in.

Honestly, the most surprising thing of the entire affair was Harry… He was bloody terrible. Not as bad as Neville, but still _bad_. He just couldn’t seem to get the spells out fast enough. Dean Thomas had him beat in that regard and Ron was no better.

“Hah!” Dean said, “Looks like I'll be on the team. Anyone else?”

Hermione watched on a little disinterested, but no less watchful. It was practically the same thing match after match. Sometimes two girls would duel, but usually it was boy vs boy. In the rare cases that a boy and girl dueled, it usually ended in the boy’s victory. Hermione shook her head. In all honestly, the boys had more practice casting hexes because they were usually hexing people in the hallways. It wasn’t an accurate representation of anyone’s dueling abilities.

She watched, bored, and hoping for this to be over, for her to duck out without having to be apart of it at all. That was until Dean went too far and humiliated Helena Abernathy, Hermione’s fifth roommate and best friend to Faye Dunbar, by drenching her and levitating her upside down, forcing her to hold her skirt or be even more humiliated.

“Mr. Thomas, that is--”

The girl righted herself in the air and floated back down gently as Hermione stepped out of the crowd with her wand raised, lowering Helena down. Faye moved to console her best friend and looked towards Hermione as did most of the Gryffindor girls in shock.

“I’ll duel you.”

Harry looked at her incredulously as the boys laughed, “Sabertooth Granger’s going to duel me?”

“You can always forfeit,” she said plainly.

Minerva looked at her and then Dean, “Well… Mr. Thomas, a challenge has been given. Will you accept?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “You know I won’t go easy on you because you’re a girl.”

“And I won’t go easy on you because you’re a tosser.”

A snicker came from behind her, a girl it seemed. She curtsied politely though Dean did not offer her the same courtesy and set her stance.

Minerva tilted her head, a ghost of memory may be clouding her thoughts as she saw Hermione. She knew for a fact that the girl had never dueled before, but there was a power and a confidence in her stance that would have told everyone otherwise. It wasn’t the English traditional style that focused more on stationary wand work and very slow backwards and forwards movement. This seemed to hail from somewhere else.

Dean set his stance, very English.

“Didn’t your father ever tell you that boys were stronger?”

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you it isn’t nice to humiliate a lady?” Hermione asked. “No worries, I’ll teach you now.”

“On you mark.”

“You’ll regret that Granger.”

“I doubt that highly.”

Their brown eyes met across the distance and for a moment Dean saw something else on Hermione’s face. Not fury, but a sly smirk, too close to Slytherin intentions glittering in her eyes.

“What’s with your stance anyway?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about it,” she said kindly.

“Go.”

“Locomor--”

“ _Anteoculatia!”_ she said cutting him off with a swish of her wand. “ _Vox Asinum! Capillos sectis_. _”_

Minera and the rest of Gryffindor starred in horror as antlers grew out of his head, his spell turned to loud braying in his mouth and his thick bed of curls vanished leaving only “I’m a Rude Git” in the familiar black curls that had once been his afro. He brayed in rage trying to raise his wand as she twirled her wrist.

“ _Flipendo Confunto!_ ” He flew back over the crowd behind him and hovered there as she turned her wand in circles so he spun in time.

“Think of this the next time you want to pick on someone!"

There was another string of spells that turned his pants into a standard issue skirt that billowed as he spun around effectively flashing everyone his briefs.

“Ms. Granger… I do believe that is enough for one day.”

She looked at Minerva and raised her wand, “Finite Incantartem.”

He dropped onto the boys, antlers and all and the bell for lunch rang. She turned to grab her bag, reopen her book and head indoors after Minerva dismissed them and asked some of the boys to help Dean to the Infirmary to get the antlers removed as it was very clear that Hermione would not do it.

“And a change of clothes.”

Per usual, she found herself alone at the lunch table, that was until Helena and Faye appeared.

“That was amazing,” Faye said taking a seat. “Why on earth didn’t you do that to Lavender and Parvati for all the trouble they cause you?”

Hermione looked up seeing the two of them there and setting her book aside.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Thank you,” Helena said with a small smile. “I know we’re not the best of friends… or anything…”

“Friends or not, you didn’t deserve that and Dean needed to be taught a lesson.”

Dean walked in, now completely bald and coughing as if his voice was still shifting back from braying like a donkey. At least he was in pants again.

“Right… quite a lesson it was...Could you teach us to duel like that?”

Hermione looked at her confused, “Like what?”

“Well,” Faye started. “It’s no secret that the boys have more practice dueling because they like to wave their wands around, but… that doesn’t mean we should get trounced like we were today…”

Hermione looked between them warily, “I suppose… I really just followed my instinct. I’ve never dueled before.”

“Never?” Helena asked. “People are saying your parents were duelists.”

She snorted, “My parents are dentists--muggles. The only dueling they know of is fencing.”

“What’s that?” Hermione gave them a hopeless smile.

“It’s like dueling, but instead of magic, you use swords.”

“Why would you do that? That sounds dangerous.”

“Well it was usually to the death,” Hermione said. “Now, it’s a sport.”

Faye nodded and began to eat, “So, when do we begin?”

Hermione shrugged, “After classes perhaps?”

They grinned and went on to ask her what she was reading, eating with her. When they apologize for not reaching out to her more she regarded them and shrugged.

“I didn’t exactly make it easy.”

“You didn’t make it hard either,” Faye countered. “I just wasn’t sure what to say after a while… then you got so quiet in class. I was a coward.”

Helena winced, “Me too.”

Hermione shook her head, “I can’t say I was in the proper state for friends.”

“Well… are you now?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

*

“You wanted to see me Professor?” Hermione asked coming into Minerva’s office and seeing a group of students. It had been weeks since the Dean incident. Faye and Helena spent quite a deal of time in the library with her. They couldn’t talk about everything, but there was something like camaraderie there and growing. Luna and Neville joined them often enough and somehow Hermione’s little circle had grown to include Harry at times.

He’d told her that she was amazing for what she did to Dean and that he hoped he never made her that angry. Dean was still braying at times and glaring at her. It was about a week before the first dueling match was supposed to take place.

“Yes, come in, my girl. Boys, this is Hermione Granger.”

She looked around smiling lightly at the six boys in the room. They were all older than her each by one more year than the last.

“With her agreement, I believe our dueling team is complete.”

Hermione looked at her, “Professor, I’m not understanding. I thought there were to be seven.”

“With you there is,” one of them said.

“I must decline,” Hermione said, apparently shocking them.

“Whatever for Ms. Granger?”

“I have no interest in dueling for sport, the Dueling Cup, or the House Cup,” Hermione said. “Let alone to the benefit of the Gryffindor House.”

They gawked at her and Minerva took a deep breath, “Boys, could you give us a moment.”

They looked at Hermione strangely with her book pressed against her chest.

“Come sit down, child,” she said kindly and Hermione obeyed her, setting her book flat in her lap, her bag down beside her and regarding Minerva.

“Ms. Granger, if I may be frank, you are by far the best duelist in your class. I would wager with a little practice, you could probably best a fourth year rather easily…. What you did for Ms. Abernathy was quite brave and extraordinary, so forgive me if I am confused by your statement.”

“I did it because no one else would,” Hermione said plainly. “People of the school have been allowed to terrorize students at will without check, without notice, and without care. It’s been a fend for one’s self deal since I arrived here. Gryffindor is supposed to be brave and all that, but all I’ve seen are a bunch of frightened children. To be frank, I was tired of it so I taught him a lesson.”

Minerva nodded, “Yes, there is a great inequality in the halls that is frankly unnerving, but such changes are not done merely from the faculty side, such changes must come from students as well.”

“Since we are being frank, Professor McGonagall, I do not believe I came here to babysit other people’s children.”

Minerva laughed, “No, I suppose that is my duty.”

She stood up and went to the window, looking out, “I took to the Quidditch field while I was in school to remind people that a girl could play for Gryffindor. I was a beater and a darn good one too.”

Hermione watched as she turned around, “I see in you a great struggle, Ms. Granger. One that is not unique to you or your age. The inequality you speak of is not something that can be changed from the outside… It is not easy, it is almost never pretty, but I believe that you are not a young woman who would sit idly by and let it continue.”

“Why didn’t you pick any girls for the initial line-up?”

Minerva smiled, “Because it is hard to drag someone from the front to the back of a group.”

Hermione considered that for a moment and regarded her.

“The House of Gryffindor, in all the years of the dueling tournament, has never been represented by a young woman. Whether through lack of interest or systemic roadblocks, it never happened. The one time it could have, dueling was ended as a sport and Quidditch became the only sporting event of the school. You are from the muggle world so you don’t know the things that young witches and wizards are taught. Like me you came from the muggle world, with that difference comes a bit more freedom.”

Hermione regarded her.

“You were never taught them, so you are never bound to them,” Minerva said with a smile. “You were never taught that young girls weren’t made for sporting events, let alone an event like dueling. You were never told it was unlady like to cast a hex, even when someone deserved it… I called you here in hopes that you would start the change in Hogwarts, in this post-war age. Lily Evans, now Lily Snape began it with her involvement in the war.”

Hermione looked down at her book, “It is never that simple.”

“No,” Minerva agreed. “It never is.”

“It will never be easy.”

“No, it never will be.”

“I would have to be three times as good as anyone else to get anywhere.”

“If you’re lucky,” Minerva agreed. “Given the history of the Gryffindor house and the other members of the team, it will be more like four.”

Hermione looked at her, “Why me?”

Minerva smiled, “Because you’re the only one who stepped out, you’re the only one who was strong enough to do something… You are everything a Gryffindor should be...and we must always lead by example.”

Hermione looked down, “Gryffindor Brave….”

“You may hold no true allegiance to your House, Ms. Granger, but you were sorted here for a reason. Ravenclaw would have left you to your books, I am asking you to take what you have read and change the school for the better.”

Hermione looked at her.

“Be the first female duelist champion of Hogwarts,” Minerva said. “Be the first female duelist to represent the House of Godric Gryffindor.”

Hermione swallowed thickly. She’d promised her pappu that she would crush them… Did she want that? For herself? To be so well known? To be so…

_Revolutionary?_

“Okay,” she said with a nod. “On one condition.”

Minerva smiled, “Go on.”

“My uniform can’t look like theirs,” she said. “If I’m going to do this… if it’s going to make any changes, it has to be right.”

Minerva smiled, “I was thinking the same thing.”

She slid a piece of parchment across the table.

“This is the room that the Gryffindor team has reserved for practice, all matches will be held in the Great Hall. Will you be a single or a triple?”

“Both,” she said, tucking the parchment into her book. “I will see you at practice, Professor.”

Minerva nodded, “Godspeed.”

*

Viktor took the quickest path back to his room, sliding in and taking a seat, feeling himself settle back into his body. It had been… rather intense, tangled together in the classroom, a hand around her throat, the way she’d looked up at him, begged him for more. He was almost dizzy with it. She’d been so desperate, who would have thought the upperclassmen who seemed to take no shit from anyone wanted to be held down?

Who would have thought that he would be able to give her what she wanted?

A new letter appeared as he walked silently across the room. He grabbed it out of the air and took a seat by the fire to read. His roommate was already fast asleep, fooled by the charmed lump in his bed. Viktor flicked his wand to dissolve the illusion before unfolding it.  She’d been giving him updates regarding her school’s revived dueling tournament. She’d talked with her House Head, met her teammates and practiced with them and the reserves. From what she’d told him, she was slowly becoming a rather revolutionary and controversial figure in her House. If he was right, she’d already watched the first match and the first match she’d be participating in would be tomorrow.  

_I don’t even know where to begin! I’m so nervous, my stomach is in knots. The first match of the season was just last week. I would have written, but it was just so busy between exams and the Quidditch flurry. We won our Quidditch match and our House has the cup. Everyone’s banking on us winning the Dueling Cup to secure the House Cup as well. No one knows I’m on the team yet either. The team members are all… rather skeptical of me. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m a girl or what, but they are even though I can outrun them all. And I’ve kept up with our training easily enough. I haven’t received my uniform, but my House Head and I have an understanding: I’m not doing this for the House Cup, but I’m doing this because I believe it’s right. No one should think that they shouldn’t or can’t do something because no one’s done it before. No one should be limited in what they can and can’t do because of their gender or anything as simple and unimportant as that. I’ll be the first female duelist to represent my house and it’s only worthwhile if I win._

_Last weeks duel was brutal. The team I was hoping for didn’t win any of their matches. The triple matches are worth more to the house, but there are more individual matches so it makes sense to try and win a balance of both. I’ve studied and practiced my form and casting and I think I’m ready, but I’ve never competed for anything like this before. It’s tomorrow, for heaven’s sake and I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Did you feel like this before your first Quidditch match?_

_On an up note, I’ve asked the Healer to let me make my own potions for my illness as it’s been quite some time since she’s had time to make them for me. I offered up an apprenticeship of sorts with her so she could have a little more time to deal with the injuries and gear up for the dueling season._

_It’s rather nice to be making it myself, I don’t have to worry about missing a dose and it’s always good to learn something new. She’s been teaching me some healing spells too since I’ve been training rather roughly. I think they’re trying to get me to quit because they have someone else they want on the team, but I’m taking your advice and fighting back. It seems to be working rather well for now._

_I’m going to try and go to sleep at a decent hour, go for a run and do some meditation before the match in the hopes that it will calm me down. I hope your exams and things are going well. How has your season been going? You’ve seemed troubled for quite some time. Have you figured out what your High Master is planning?_

He smiled and lay back, breathing deeply before getting changed and washed up for bed. He turned the letter over and wrote his reply with a smile, sending it with a wave of his wand before writing a note to the Olivia in seventh year about the possibility of their next encounter. He’d promised her an answer after getting her back to her room and warmed up before crawling into bed with a sigh.

He dreamt of small, delicate dark brown hands twined with his and two sets of feet in crystal clear waters. His own and a smaller, daintier brown feet sloshing around. There was the muted sound of her voice. He could never see her face, nor hear her voice clearly, but the heady warmth always overtook him, spreading through him and keeping him in a deep sleep.

He always slept best when he dreamt of her, he’d begun to call her Gaia for the tone of her skin and how steady she made him feel.

*

“Wonder who’s on the team from our year,” Ron asked. “Maybe Dean?”

“I’ve already asked Dean and he said it isn’t him,” someone said.

“Hermione?” She looked up at the third year standing behind her.  “Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office.”

She nodded and got up. Faye and Helena gave her a wary look and she nodded reassuringly at them. Tonight was her first match and she had only told Faye and Helena that she would be competing. The walk to Minerva’s office had never seemed so long, but she walked it and put her hand on the door knob. Hermione took a deep breath and entered Minerva’s office.

“You wanted to see me Professor?”

Minerva looked up, “Yes dear girl, come in.”

She stepped in and set her bag down.

“You must be nervous,” Minerva said, “Come sit for a moment.”

Hermione took a seat.

“Do you feel ready?”

Hermione shook her head, “I’m not sure.”

Minerva nodded, “Felix has given me his line-up for the triples. You’ll be in the second heat  with Marco and Anthony.”

She figured as much.

“Up against a fourth, fifth, and third year.”

Hermione winced. What was Felix thinking?

“Professor…”

“I know,” Minerva said with a sigh. “But the Headmaster is intent on keeping the rules as they stand.”

Meaning that each team had two heats of triples and each single duelist was randomnly matched no matter what. Felix thought it best to group the three lowest years together and the three highest leaving their fourth year Henry as the only person only dueling as a single. Hermione thought it was the dumbest idea, but he was so very stubborn and unwilling to listen to a first year when he was so much older and a pureblood.

“And my single?”

She sighed, “A fourth year.”

Hermione looked at her, “You have to be joking.”

“I am afraid not my dear. Even if it was by year, my dear, the Ravenclaws put their first year as their final backup in their triples only.”

_Fantastic._

“There is also the matter of your schooling.”

“Yes?

“The Headmaster has spoken with all of your Professors and they think perhaps that you should be on an accelerated track.”

Hermione tilted her head, “As in graduating early?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Pending your performance, I believe he plans on calling upon your grandfather about it.”

“Great…” Hermione said. “Anything else in particular?”

Minerva laughed and reached down to grab a box, sliding it across the table towards her.

“Your uniform of course.” Minerva said. “Per the Headmaster it was _fitting_ that you should have a different style of uniform as all the current uniforms are style after the old dueling uniforms with little modification. It may also interest you to know that you are the only girl in the competition this year.”

“Talk about an impact,” Hermione said opening the box. The Gryffindor colors were strong, The shirt a bright red with gold trimming, the Gryffindor crest on the back of the cloak.

“Madame Malkin was quite happy to make it with a note that she’d be here to watch.”

Hermione laughed remembering Madame Malkin from her time in the robe shop. She was a very sweet older woman and maybe one of the only shopkeepers in the Alley who didn’t believe that just because she was muggle born she should get second class service.

 _Knock them dead, dear,_ the note said and she laughed drawing the rest of the uniform out. The vest was more of a waist corset in black and a black skirt with pleats, knee high boots and long socks.

“Ah, and this as a token for good luck.”

She opened the box Minerva handed her and found two clips each with Gryffindor crest on them and a length of wire connecting them. She picked them up and they leapt from her hands flying up to her head and twirling around her voluminous curls to get them up and off the back of her neck.

“I think I like this.”

Minerva nodded, she thought she would.

“Go on and enjoy your lunch. I will see you at six thirty.”

She nodded pulling the combs from her hair and setting them back in the box along with the rest of her uniform. She tied the box closed and headed to the Gryffindor tower to set it into her trunk and breathed before heading back down to finish lunch.

“Is everything okay?” Faye asked.

“Just fine,” she said. _For now at least..._

The day seemed to get slower by the hour. The halls abuzz with it the unveiling of the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw dueling teams, people trying to guess who it was. Draco had been on the SLytherin team, no doubt because he couldn’t play on the Quidditch team yet and he was fairly handy with a wand.  By the time it was time for dinner, Hermione thought she might throw up.

“Are you alright?” Helena asked. “You look a bit ill.”

“Just… nervous I suppose.”

Faye eyed her warily but then a letter appeared, hovering over Hermione’s plate and she opened it.

_I threw everything up before my first Quidditch match. Nervousness is normal. Fear isn’t something to be avoided, but to be understood and controlled. I fear before every match, but I know it is because I fear letting my team down._

_What are you afraid of, Biblio-logical? And is it enough to make you fail?_

She swallowed and gabbed for her quill and ink pot, writing furiously before the end of dinner to try and get her answer. She still had to go change, to breathe and meet with the team before they entered the Great Hall.

She sent it, unfolded and nervous without the use of her wand, stuffed her dinner in her mouth and rushed off. Faye and Helena were just behind her, following her up to their room and trying to get her to breathe, only to find that she was, very deeply, slowly, almost meditatively as she moved to shower and began to dress.

“You’ll be fine!” Faye insisted. “You’ll be just fine, you’re going to wipe the floor with them, just you wait.”

Hermione focused on her breathing, ignoring her shaking hands as she pulled on her long socks her shirt and skirt, the corset and laced it tight enough to be a brace. She pulled her cloak on and fastened her dueling cuffs on each wrist. The boys had gloves she knew, she only wanted wrist braces for each hand. Minerva had asked her why and she’d told her that she felt she needed to learn to duel with both, to cast with both to be sure. She was ambidextrous though she usually used her right and favored her left. She always felt she had more control with her left hand than her right.

The letter appeared as Faye and Helena left her outside of the meeting room they were using.

She opened it.

_You fear letting yourself down, of not living up to your own expectations? Or your fear this not being the route to get what you want._

_As you say, if you do this for a higher cause, do this for yourself first and foremost. You have nothing to fear._

_You’ll crush them. I believe in you._

_P.S. A prayer of luck that always calms me:_

_I pray my song the Pallas Athena, the keeper of the city and war. May she give me the strength to overcome my enemies and the wisdom to grant them forgiveness. May she see over me in my time of fear and find me worthy of courage. May I have the strength to face my doubts with my head held high fearless and better than the person I was before._

She swallowed folding the page. _Better than the person I was before,_ she thought.

Better, braver, stronger… Yes, this didn’t have to be about anyone else. This didn’t have to be about anything else.

She stood tall and opened the door marching in to see Minerva glaring at Felix who had a first year boy at his side, Dean Thomas.

“Well she isn’t here Professor, we can’t throw our first match.”

“Ms. Granger--”

“Is here,” she said and looked towards the clock. “I was under the impression that I was on time.”

Felix and Dean turned with the rest of the group to see her, looking every bit a daughter of Gryffindor in her red, gold and black.

“You are Ms. Granger. If you would Mr. Thomas proceed to the Great Hall.”

Dean glared at her and brushed past her as she stepped further into the room and regarded Felix.

“I don’t appreciate you trying to give my spot away,” Hermione said with a smile. “Let’s agree to not do it again shall we?”

His eyes narrowed as Minerva urged them to line up in order of year so that Hermione would enter last.  The proceeded down the corridor lining up as the Ravenclaw team entered the Great Hall. The sound of cheering and chanting filling the air.

“The House of Godric Gryffindor was the last house to hold the Dueling Cup,” Minerva said. “I hope to see it remain with us for quite sometime.”

She walked in and the procession began.

Faye and Helena stood on the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall  as the began to walk in. The cheering started but they said nothing until Hermione could be seen. Then, all bets were off cheering for their roommate while the rest of their year seemed shocked to see her, whispering between one another.

_A girl?_

_Is she serious?_

Hermione paid them no mind, only stepping up in line with her team to bow politely. The order was simple: three singles at a time, one triple, the next three singles, and then the final triple. Hermione would be in the second heat of both.

She took a seat with the Gryffindors and watched anxiously. Felix managed to win his match, but the other two were not so lucky. They lost the triple heat of the upper classmen thanks to a particularly powerful spell from a sixth year that incapacitated them, freezing them where they stood.

As it stood, to win this match, they had to win their next triple and score enough points in the singles. Hermione did a quick calculation upon reading the line up. The two in her singles heat were lucky, their opponents were in years below them, they would be alright given that they won in a timely fashion. Singles were awarded for the elegance of their defense, offense, and the speed of their spellwork. Assuming that the two didn’t lose, all she had to do was win and they had to win their heat. Triples were given more points for teamwork, combination spells, and of course the speed of the match.

Henry won his match easily. As did Owen, leaving it to be Hermione’s turn against Alexander Dumont of Ravenclaw.

The room went quiet as she curtsied politely and raised her wand.

 _“_ We’re going to lose,” Faye heard someone say. “She’s got no chance against him.”

“Who thought this was a bloody good idea?” Ron asked. “It should have been Dean up there, he has the best hexes.”

Hermione set her stance breathing in. She had to do this right, they needed the point boost. Depending on how quickly this ended, they would tie with Ravenclaw whether they won their second triple or not. Her eyes flickered over him, his stance, his eyes.

He thought she would be easy, but he wasn’t going to underestimate her.

“On your mark.”

Hermione took a breath and let it slide out.

“Go!”

“H--”

“Flipendo!” Alexander went flying off the dueling strip a powerful blast sending him out of bounds and winning Hermione the match. She blinked, a little shocked. The entire Great Hall shocked before Faye was yelling.

“Granger! Granger! Granger!”

Hermione stood up straight and looked to Minerva who was smiling, her eyebrows raised and shocked along with the rest of the staff.

“Well,” Albus began. “I’m not sure how else to declare a win of that magnitude…”

Hermione stepped back to join her team who stared at her like some wild thing as the points on the board shot up so they were thirty points ahead of Ravenclaw. One hit, speed bonus, and the strength of the spell…

 _Nice,_ she thought.

“Will the second heat step forward?”

Hermione, Marco, and Anthony stepped forward to face the Ravenclaw group.

“Just take my lead,” Marco said, a third year. Anthony agreed and Hermione said nothing, looking over the group.

“We need a defense,” Hermione said.

“We just need to hold on so the duel ends in a draw.”

“If that happens then we’ll lose,” Hermione said.

“They’re upperclassmen, you got off a lucky shot that’s the best we can do.”

“Or we could have a defense,” Hermione said. Marco rolled his eyes.

“Look Granger, you made it clear that you don’t care, so just keep your mouth shut.”

She grit her teeth but curtsied to her opponents.

“On your mark.”

“Go!”

Hermione put up her shield as soon as they were allowed and watched the other two get blown away and out of the ring.

Felix stood up, “Professor!”

“Hermione is still standing,” Minerva said looking at the two boys as they struggled to their feet.

“You can’t expect--”

“I expect her to do what she feels she can,” Minerva said. “And for you to learn something from this.”

Hermione held her shield solid against the blasts, digging in her heels to keep from being pushed out of bounds.

She bit her lip waiting for the moment and pushing forward.

“Just forfeit Granger!” Marco yelled after her.

She dropped the shield and dropped to the floor, “Erecto!”

Stone sprung up between them and she twirled her wand around her head vanishing before someone called out “Reducto” and the wall moved aside. The room gasped.

Where was she?

 _Disillusionment?_ Minerva thought incredulously. When on earth had she learned that?

“ _Silencio_.” They heard and shot a hext in that direction only for it to break against the containment ward.

“Where is she?” One of them asked.

Hermione moved slowly, careful to keep herself low to the ground.

 _“Langlock!_ ”

The seventh year dropped his wand as his tongue stuck itself to the roof of his mouth.

“Flipendo!”

He flew back still panicked as the other two began to fire hex after spell after jinx in the general direction of her voice. Hermione crept closer, under the arc of their blasts.

“Locomotor Mortis!” She said rolling to the opposite side of where she’d thrown her voice.

“Libera--”

“Incarcerous! Expelliarmus!”

Ropes shot out entwining the two before the one with the leg lock’s wand went flying away.

“Finite Incantartem!”

He was lucky and the spell broke over her revealing her to be in the center of the dueling strip.

“Levicorpus!” They went flying up hanging upside down by their feet and wrestling for the angle on the one wand between them.

“Rictumsempra!”

He burst into laughed, wriggling around in their bonds until his wand dropped and Hermione let out a sigh of relief she stood up with an incredulous laugh before undoing the enchantments and getting the two back on the ground.

“Well… that was certainly unorthodox,” Albus said. “But a victory nonetheless. Gryffindor wins.”

She let out a breath and looked at Minerva who grinned, then to madame Malkin who beamed at her. She turned to Gryffindor who stared at her like she as if she was crazy and felt her stomach churn.

“Granger! Granger! Granger!” Faye and Helena started and soon most of the girls in her class followed suite, spreading into the rest of the house until the entire Hall was filled with it. She laughed incredulous and curtsied, tucking her wand away before going to her team. Felix looked at her.

“That was… pretty sneaky.” Hermione waited as he winced, “Perhaps...we should rethink strategy.”

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head before turning to Minerva with a smile.

“How was that?”

“I believe that it was a very valiant start Ms. Granger.”

Hermione nodded, she thought so too.

Faye and Helena walked with her back to the dorms along with a rather large group of girls asking her questions about dueling, if she could teach them, did her parents teach her.

“My parents are muggles,” she said. “And I taught myself for the most part.”

Viktor got the letter as he was dropping his upperclassmen back to her room, wrapped in her cloak and ladened with warming charms. His head was a little fuzzy with the tail end of it, but he felt _good_. Good enough to waltz back to his room and slide into bed to read the letter. It was simple, the shortest note she’d ever written him over the year.

_I won._


	8. Fading Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets a very big surprise. She also happens to get into a little bit of trouble with Molly, but it really wasn't her fault. 
> 
> No one told Ron to fire spells at her.

Over the next few weeks, they traded letters about anything and everything including the fact that next year, the Dueling Season would be in time with the Quidditch season, Dueling matches taking place on opposing weekends so that every week of the season would have a match of some sort. 

She doesn’t tell him about the older girls who put hexes on the baths so that it’s always either freezing or scalding when she tries to bathe, she’s just glad that she’s never in the baths alone anymore.  What she does tell him is that her social life has seemed to improved. Sure, Luna, Fay, and Helena were the only girls that didn’t see her as some heroine for equality, but she also seemed to be getting along better with her teammates as well. 

They actually started listening to her, watching out for her and the like. They were still strategizing for the final match against Slytherin, having strategy meeting after each match and spending a lot of time in the library. Besides them, it seemed even boys in her own years seemed to be taking a bit more of a shine to her. 

_ Apparently, being good at a sport was all it took to get them to stop being so terrible to me… I supposed that will last as long as it will last, though. _

The day of the final match, after Gryffindor had securely won the Quidditch Cup and it was rather clear that they would very much be a threat to Slytherin’s standing, she gets caught in the hallway by group of Slytherin boys, surrounded really and before she even needs to whip out her wand, Severus appeared. 

“What is going on?”

“N-Nothing Professor Snape, we were just… talking to Granger.”

“About your last potions essay, Mr. Crabbe? Seeking tutoring perhaps.”

“Uh-Uh…”

“Go,” he said flatly and they scurried off. Hermione grabbed her books, shoved them in her bag. 

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Ms. Granger,” he began, stopping her. “The Headmaster would like to see you this evening after the match.”

“Yes, Professor.”

She nodded and went on her way with Severus watching her go. She reminded him so very much of Lily when they were in school. It was perhaps why he’d felt the need to step in though he knew sure well that his first years were no match for her. She sat down in the library and opened the letter, feeling something in her churn uncomfortably at the writing. It was nowhere near as neat as it usually was, slanted with pain and perhaps anger. Dark red smudges that she knew to be blood. Her blood went cold at the state of the library and the world began to shake almost too much to make out the words on the page.

_ I will not be able to write to you for some time, perhaps not until the beginning of the next school year. I have been injured rather badly and will be spending the summer with my parents in Vratsa. I cannot tell you why,  perhaps one day I will, but not today. There are things I must figure out. Please do not take it as a plea not to write to me, just know that I cannot reply. I would still like to hear from you.  _

_ Take care of yourself.   _

Hermione worried her lip and turned over the page to pen her reply. She took a breath to steady her hand and wrote.

_ I understand, whatever has happened, I hope that it does not affect your ability to fly, or read, or do anything else. I’m sorry to hear that you’ll be staying with your parents… Hopefully, it’s a chance for them to get to know you better? I will write to you, even if you cannot answer. I’ll take care of myself if you promise to take care as well.  _

_ The state of your letter has my heart pounding with fear for you given what you’ve told me of your High Master. I hope you still have time to visit your grandmother or do something that will give you a bit of joy in the days ahead.  _

_ Hoping for your happiness,  _

_ Biblio-logical _

The note arrived and he read it while Angel dabbed at the blood on his face, his black eye and glaring at his crushed hand. 

“Viktor,” she started. “What happened?”

“They signed the papers without my consent,” Viktor said. “And when I said I didn’t want to… Karkaroff… and Ilya…”

Angel’s eyes went hard, “You have to tell her about this.”

“No.”

“Viktor!”

“I said no Angel,” he said with a shake of his head. “And don’t you either. Give me your word.”

Angel clenched her jaw but nodded begrudgingly.

“This is my problem,” Viktor said. “I won’t have her worrying over me, frightened… she has already done so over grandfather.”

Angel swallowed and sank to the bed, “This… isn’t right Viktor.”

“No,” he said. “It isn’t… but if I play hard enough… well enough… I can leave for good and then… whatever I want.”

Angel looked at him and sighed, “Northgard will not heal you?”

“Karkaroff called it discipline,” Viktor said looking at his hand. “I have a potion that will make it heal properly, but in the normal time.”

Angel growled, “I wish I knew healing magic, you shouldn’t have to suffer like this!”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I… will be fine.”

Another note appeared on his lap and he opened it. It was from Olivia asking after his health. She’d apparently heard about it from a student in his class. She was a very caring soul that honestly needed someone to care for her. He grabbed for his quill and Angel lifted it out of his hand, offering him a Quick-Notes Quill instead. 

“Let’s not make it worse shall we?”

He groaned,  _ he hated _ Quick-Notes Quills. They were so very impersonal and… He shook his head focusing on the one reply he wanted to send before sending it and growling. 

“I’d rather not.”

“Well too bad, you can’t use your hand.”

“I know that.”

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know that, instead it was that his father didn’t realize that letting Karkaroff do this to him and then allowing his brand of “discipline” meant that he couldn’t use his hand, which mean virtually no training unless he wanted Viktor to be in pain, no shaking of the hands, no joy for the entire summer. 

Ilya didn’t care. He was determined to make sure Viktor was prepared to give his best show when the time came, thus, Viktor found himself, every summer and every holiday after on his broom with his father’s old Quidditch buddy “training him”. It was really just a constant test to outfly the older man and his tricks. He did so with ease, a fact that was both wanted and hated. It was obvious that Viktor didn’t need a flying tutor, but when his grandmother came to go flying them him, it was actually a challenge. She taught him things that his grandfather would have if he were still alive and while they flew there wasn’t that melancholy in her eyes. 

He found himself exhausted after flying with his grandmother, the limits of his strength tested and surpassed every day.

At least, he’d managed the use of his dominant hand before the start of Hermione’s second year. She’d told him about how she’d been taken out of her normal classes and put on an accelerated track. She’d sat for her O.W.L.s in private and was set to take her N.E.W.T.s soon too.

When Ilya invited Sergei over for dinner not even a full two years after that conversation, it was after the pick-up game they’d force Viktor to play in with the local minor league. Sergei had brought with him the owner of the team to watch Viktor play and since his parents had already signed the form for him to try-out for the team, all that was left was Viktor’s contract. Sergei commented on how much better Viktor's flying had gotten, a freedom in the air that was almost unheard of at a time when most people didn’t spend that much time on brooms.

“If you could leave us,” the old man said looking at Ilya and Aello.  “You have given your blessing and now it is time for me to have a talk with young Viktor.”

They opened their mouths to protest, but the man didn’t seem to be interested in hearing them out. They cast looks at Viktor who didn’t look at them and eventually left. The old man sighed with relief and offered a gentle smile. 

“Parents,” he said with a shake of his head. “Your grandmother owled me quite some time ago about you.”

Viktor looked at him. 

“I knew her when we were in a school… would have married her too if not for the old Wing...you fly just like him.”

Viktor looked away as he smiled at him. 

“Your parents may have signed the paperwork, but I don’t take anyone on my team who doesn’t want to be here… Yet I know that if you decline, your parents will take it out on you.”

Viktor swallowed. 

“I offer up an alternative,” he said. “But first a few questions.” 

Viktor looked at him.

“You graduate soon, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You like the game?”

“It... has grown on me.”

He laughed, “Grown on you enough to play regardless of your parents?”

Viktor let out a breath, “I...do not want to resent Quidditch or flying...I fear playing will do that.” 

“Should you chose to play, and play well, there will be people vying for your attention, your life will be made public knowledge to some degree, fans all over the world will know your name. Everything you do will be speculated about, who you date, what you do, everything… Your grandmother thinks that your High Master wants you to participate in the upcoming Tri-wizard Tournament. It seems, Viktor, that you are on the cusp of having a great amount of attention on you. After that, there will be questions about your soulmate, as soon as you are of age in fact.”

Viktor swallowed thinking on those meetings in abandoned classrooms, the look on her face, on the face of Anastasia, a girl she’d referred to him, on being put out in the world. Those private intimate meetings… The question of his soulmate coming into question and perhaps having her deal with that…

He swallowed.

“Are you willing to deal with that? Fully prepared? Your parents are only a problem so long as you are underage and allow them to be, Karkaroff is only your problem so long as you are at Durmstrang. The kind of fame that you could have is something you may have to live with for the rest of your life.”

Viktor breathed considering it for a moment, a great terror in the pit of his stomach. Of course, he would do everything it took to keep others out of the spotlight. Of course, he knew that his parents were only a temporary problem as he had no fear of being disinherited-- he was more than capable of making a means of living for himself without them. 

But this terror… this horrible fear… What was he so afraid of? That he wasn’t good enough? That he wouldn’t ever be good enough? That perhaps along with his name, his heritage, only this extra fame would be what anyone ever saw him for?

That even his soulmate would only see that? He licked his lip, would he want a soulmate that could only see him as a son of the Krum line? As a seeker? 

The year was 1993 and the season he would be coming in on would be leading into the 1994 World Cup, the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Karkaroff had not spoken about it, but he was sure that his grandmother was absolutely right.

Ivan Belov watched Viktor, intrigued by a young man who had so much talent, so much promise but so much wisdom to truly consider the repercussions. He’d turned away many foolhardy men who’d wanted to play for Bulgaria because they had not thought on the repercussions of it. Most of the ones who’d had a break elsewhere were currently strung out on fire whiskey or at the very least greatly unhappy.

“I...am afraid,” Viktor admitted. “That all of this will change me perhaps… perhaps not. And if not change me, then make it so no one sees anything else.”

Ivan tilted his head. 

“It is… all my parents see now. I know they will never see anything else now,” he said. “But… I don’t believe I would want to spend my life with anyone who would only see this.”

He looked at him, “I like Quidditch, enough to play, enough to continue to play it for just myself, but… how do you protect the people you care about from the effects of fame?”

Ivan smiled, “You read the fine print and you don’t let fame change you.”

“Quidditch gives me a challenge on a broom,” he said. “That’s the only reason I want to play.”

“And will you lend my team your talents Viktor?” He asked. 

“Represent Bulgaria?” Viktor asked. “To represent myself? Yes... On certain conditions.”

He smiled and leaned forward, “Ask.”

An hour later, the door opened. Ilya and Aello stood, KarKaroff turned as the exited the room. Ivan and Viktor shook hands. 

“I’ll be in touch, Viktor. Welcome to the Vultures.”

*

Hermione ducked as Fred flew a little too close to her head and took off. She heard Molly yelling at them in the distance and shook her head as a new letter appeared, hovering in mid-air. She opened the letter and walked forward. It seemed like they’d retrieved Harry successfully, but better than that, Dragonheart had officially moved out of his parent’s house, breaking most ties with them. The last thing to do was to graduate for him. He seemed much happier now that he’d apparently set his High Master straight with the help of his grandmother and a well-placed hex. 

_ He is still pushy, but we have reached an agreement: I play along only as far as I wish.  _

It seemed that without the backing of Dragonheart’s parents, his High Master was a bit of a coward. Most bullies were in her experience. She lifted her wand, reflecting a hex that sent one of the twins tumbling out of the air. 

“Nice try, George.”

“Boys!”

Hermione shook her head and walked on, continuing her letter until she arrived at the door to hug Molly and thank her for the hospitality. Ginny appeared, beaming at her and showing her up to their room in the cozy burrow. 

“We’re so glad we managed to convince them to let you have one summer off! I’ve never heard of professors so unwilling to let a student go!”

Hermione laughed taking a seat, careful to fold the letter up and store it in her bag. George came in with his tongue several sizes too big for his mouth. 

“Hermione!” She looked up seeing Harry coming down the stairs taking the hug warmly. He turned and looked at George and laughed. 

“That’s what you get,” he said shaking her head. “‘Mione isn’t the Gryffindor champion for nothing.”

Hermione shook her head, “It’s not quite that extreme.”

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. Bless her and her modesty. Top of all the classes, on an accelerated track, set to graduate early and potentially have an apprenticeship and nearly guaranteed a job, not to mention the only member of the Gryffindor Dueling Team who remained completely undefeated and the only reason the Dueling Cup remained with Gryffindor for the last four years.

She was right. She was more like the Gryffindor Queen and a favorite of Professor of McGonagall. He was pretty sure there wasn’t a girl at Hogwarts who didn’t know who she was and looked up to her in some way. She wasn’t captain of the team, as that was always held by the eldest person on the team, but she was pretty much in charge of recruiting. 

“How are Faye and Helena?” Harry asked sitting down beside her as Molly shrunk George’s tongue and scolded them for trying to hex Hermione. 

“Good,” she said. “They’re off shopping in Rome with Fay’s parents.”

They weren’t as close as they were in the first year, but they weren’t on opposite sides of the world like she was with Lavender and Pavarti. It seemed that once Harry had decided to befriend her, a good portion of the Gryffindor boys had followed suit. She and Neville were still close and she’s pretty sure that she and Luna would always be the closest as strange as she was. 

“Luna?”

“Working with her Dad,” she said with a laugh. “She sent fudge and pudding.”

Harry nodded, “Very Luna. Where’s Ron?”

Molly shook her head, “Outside I’m sure trying to emulate that seeker he likes.”

Ginny sat down looking at Hermione, “Please tell me you can teach me? Please? Please? I signed up for dueling this year and I should be allowed to take advantage of you being practically my sister.”

Hermione laughed, “If Mrs. Weasley says it’s okay.”

Molly sighed, “I don’t see why you’re so fascinated with it dear. You’re so pretty! Surely you don’t want to be waving your wand around all day?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a good duelist,” Ginny said. “Like there’s nothing wrong with a girl playing Quidditch.”

Molly sighed, “I just don’t see it benefiting you. No young wizard is going to want someone who waves her wand around all the time or spends her time beating boy around on a field. No offense Hermione.”

Hermione shrugged and Ginny’s jaw dropped, “I cannot believe you’re okay with this, Hermione.”

“It’s not my place to change anyone’s thoughts on it,” Hermione said. “And quite honestly, I couldn’t even if it was. I can only do what I think is right. There’s nothing wrong with dueling and there’s nothing wrong with playing Quidditch. If this mysterious young wizard was worth it, he’d like you for doing what makes you happy. Not what someone else says is appropriate.”

She stood up as Molly gawked and Arthur winced, “I have letters to reply to. Whenever you’d like Ginny, or Mrs. Weasley allows it.”

Harry swallowed looking between Molly and Hermione. It wasn’t exactly a new conversation. Ever since Molly began to hear about Hermione from Ron and Hermione from Ginny it had been a consistent conversation. One that Ginny had with her mother often and resulted in angry bickering with Molly screaming at the top of her lungs, Arthur trying to vanish away from the two women and everyone else at the table trying to be inconspicuous. Harry had a feeling that it wouldn’t ever end.

“I’m… going to go hang out with Hermione.”

He left and Molly regarded Ginny, “Do you want to be just one of the boys?”

“At least Hermione is doing what she wants.”

“Is she happy, though?” Molly asked, shaking her head. 

“Why don’t we ask her instead of assuming that she isn’t?”

Molly huffed and Ginny got up before Molly looked at Arthur. 

“Will you say nothing?”

“Dear, you can’t be in such a hurry to get Ginny into a relationship… she’s only in her second year.”

Molly threw up her hands, “That’s when you and I met!”

“Yes but Ginny is not you or me,” Arthur said calmly.  “And you can’t rush these things. You know you can’t be tested until you’re seventeen and even that is a shot in the dark until they finally find a matching spell.”

“If she doesn’t start acting right now, she’ll end up in her fourth year with a bunch of male friends and not a single boy who sees her as a girl. Just like Hermione.” Arthur sighed, “Hermione is a smart girl, a good role model for academics, but in social skills, she’s surely lacking.”

Harry found Hermione stretched out on the grass, her hair seemed to have gotten a little tamer, lighter in the summer sun, she’d grown taller over the years. He could only smile seeing the circle of tiny, gleaming bluebirds circling her head, singing a gentle song into the breeze as she read her letter. He’d never managed to ask who she was writing to, but he assumed that she was writing to the person she was assigned in the first year.  She laughed a feminine gentle thing that he’d never heard before and took a seat beside her. 

In fact, it was so rare that Hermione laughed at all that it made him smile.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” he started. “Are you alright?”

Hermione sighed and looked at him, “I’m fine. I’m just… I shouldn’t have to explain myself to anyone.”

Just because she wasn’t interested in perfume and whatever else she was supposed to be interested in. It hadn’t been a problem in the first or the second year, but somehow in her third year the rally of girls who wanted to be something more than they were told they could be dwindled. She figured it was because mothers like Molly lectured their daughters about the things that would land them alone… the fact that Hermione hadn’t been interested in dating and no one seemed to be interested in her seemed to be the reason. 

It didn’t matter. Her pappous had raved for days about her victories, proud to place her medals on his mantle if her parents ran out of space. Her parents had gotten a better about it and their relationship. With their schedule, they had enough time to come on the larger trips, but not all of them. It was Hermes who took her school shopping, took her to the wizarding sides of town before the school year and took her to the train station. His neighbor, and current best friend, was fantastic, a female voice telling her along with a few others to win and never bother to hide how amazing she was. 

No one could deny the fact that she was an extraordinary duelist-- big teeth and all. She wore loose muggle clothing and generally looked like a tomboy. So she didn’t attract attention with her plain face, she wasn’t doing anything to make her physicality anymore appealing, but she could care less about any of that. She was fifteen for heaven’s sake, she had plenty of time to be concerned with the male species and hopefully by the time she was they were men and not boys. 

“Who are you writing to anyway?”

“Dragonheart,” she answered. 

“You still write to the person you were assigned to?”

She nodded, “He’s a nice guy. I’m hoping he’ll be with the bunch coming for the tournament.”

Harry eyed her, “You seem rather happy to meet him.”

Hermione gave him a smile,  “He’s kind to me and --”

“Oi! ‘Mione!” She sighed and turned seeing Ron hovering on his broom above them. “Haven’t you studied enough?’

“Well someone has to be the brains of this operation.”

Harry laughed getting up.

“You won’t say that when I beat you!”

“If you could.”

He whipped out his wand and opened his mouth, but she already had hers out, saying a simple hex that had his broom shooting off. 

“That’s… impressive.”

Hermione shrugged, “It’ll wear off when he falls off.”

She sighed looking back at her letter before folding it back up and tucking it into her jumper as Ron came storming over, cheeks flushed and wand drawn. 

“Ron, I wouldn’t--” Harry started, but it was too late, a plot of earth exploded between them and Hermione moved, light on her feet in her own special style that no one had really been able to figure out. 

She stepped again as Ron fired at her, his hexes falling short of hitting her as Molly, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys came out. 

“Ron what are you doing?!”

Harry sighed, “Well Mrs, Weasley--”

“You can do it, Ron!” George yelled and then told Fred that he had five sickles on Hermione.

Fred scoffed,  “I’m not taking that bet.”

Ginny watched on as Hermione moved, flipping out of the way, spinning, practically dancing out of the range of Ron’s hexes until he was too exhausted to do anymore.  She landed in her normal stand, wand in her right hand. 

“Are you done?”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, “Ex--” 

Hermione pulled her arm back and thrust it forward from her stance and sent Ron flying back with not one word. He skidded through the mess he’d made, tumbling dirty and angry as Hermione summoned his wand, twirling it in her left hand. 

“Really Ron, was that necessary?” Hermione asked, waving her wand to fix the patches of Earth and approaching him to hand his wand back. 

“You’d be a better duelist if you weren’t so angry.”

He growled and snatched his wand out of her hand, “Like you would know!”

“She is the Gryffindor champion,” Ginny pointed out.

“Whatever!”

Ron yelled, flushed and embarrassed as Hermione shook her head and watched him go. Molly huffed and went after him as Arthur scratched his head. 

“I can go home,” she said simply, tucking her wand away. 

“No, no, no,” Arthur said. “There’s no need for that! He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, except he’s been trying to practice to take your spot on the team and got trounced,” Ginny said wryly.

“Why?” Hermione asked. Ron didn’t even like dueling.

Ginny shrugged and Arthur cleared his throat, “Let’s get inside… I think that’s been quite enough excitement for the day. “

Hermione followed him and glanced at Harry who winced. They walked into the Burrow with Ginny hanging back. 

“So all that fancy movement… that’s new right?”

She laughed, “My pappous signed me up for gymnastics and dance.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re muggle activities that mostly consists of fancy movements.”

Ginny nodded, “Can you teach me that too?”

She laughed, “I could try perhaps.”

Ron sat fuming on one side of the table with Harry trying to get some words out of him, but having no luck. The twins chatted with Hermione about the exams she sat for over the summer. 

“I can’t tell you that!” Hermione said giving them an incredulous look. 

“But ‘Mione!”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Besides, I’ll be taking the N.E.W.T.s at the end of this year anyway.”

“You should tell us how it goes.”

Hermione scoffed, “Not on your life.”

Ginny asked who was going to take her place on the dueling team when she graduates and Hermione shrugged. 

“Maybe Dean,” Hermione said. “Maybe Ron.”

Ginny gave her a strange expression, “Right… well, put in a good word for me?”

Hermione laughed, “A good word won’t make you a better duelist.”

“Yeah, but a bit of tutelage and a good word would.”

Hermione laughed at that. They talk a little more even though Molly and Ron seem to firmly keep out of the conversation before heading up to bed. Hermione changes and climbs into the bed that’s been transfigured for her on the other side of Ginny’s room. 

“So this person you’re writing to, what’s he like?”

Hermione hummed as she looked at the letter she’d been trying to read since she got it. Dragonheart was kind, definitely an intellectual. He was poetic even and his hands either smelled like a crisp sea wind or broom polish, which made perfect since he spent so much time on a broom and lived near the ocean.  He was…

“You’re in love with this guy,” Ginny said and Hermione’s jaw dropped. If she were Ginny’s complexion, she would probably be bright red. 

“I-I wouldn’t say that. We’re good friends.”

“Right… which is why you’re talking about him, someone you’ve never even met like he’s some fairytale prince.”

She pouted, “I am not.”

“You are too!” Ginny said. “Must be nice… do you think he’s your soulmate?”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean? How do you know?”

“No ink,” she said, gesturing to her unmarked hands.

Ginny frowned, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s how you know.”

“Maybe for muggles, but you’re a witch, Hermione. The rules are different… Hasn’t anyone told you?”

Hermione shook her head as Ginny sat up. She knew that wizards had visions, but she didn’t know that they might not have ink to go with them. Wizarding soulmates weren’t anything like muggle soulmates. The theory was that muggles got ink because that was all the magic their body could muster. Wizards and witches know their soulmates, usually be a few things: they have visions of one another’s day to day life, their vision changes from black and white to color, they share dreams and sometimes can see their past lives. They didn’t necessarily have ink to go with it, most wizards didn’t actually.

“I have aunts that say that you can feel your soulmate when you meet them, how their feeling if they’re near. There’s a bunch of others but it isn’t as simple as just having magic ink on you.”

Hermione hummed and added it to her list of things to research.

“Is that why… you haven’t dated?” Ginny asked. “Because you thought you didn’t have a soulmate.”

Hermione shrugged. She was sure that it was part of the reason, but it wasn’t the main one. When she thought of soulmates, she thought of the stories Hermes told her about meeting his wife Adia one day on a trip to Cairo. She’d been attacked on the street, but she fought to keep her bag, covered head to toe as was customary in Egypt. He stepped in and wrestled her bag back from them to give to her. He escorted her to the hospital, watched over her. She’d seen his hands where her nickname in her neat handwriting was written on his ring finger and asked him his name. They’d called on one another ever since until he asked her to marry him, whisking her away from her horrible brothers to Greece for their own slice of Happily Ever After. 

She didn’t have any idea what meeting her own soulmate would be like, but she also wondered if her soulmate would really want to put up with Hermione’s brand of…

_ Mental. _

Another letter appeared hovering over her lap and she lifted it out of the air and set it aside. She opened the letter from earlier and picked up where she left off.

_ Everything hurts. My new coach is hard on us, but it’s for the best. I think I put on at least twenty pounds of pure muscle just this training season, but we’re preparing for a big game, so I understand. The team we’re going up against is known to be a little ruthless, but we are Bulgarian, we don’t back down from any challenge, ruthless or not. _

_ I looked up gymnastics. It looks a little like flying. Perhaps when we meet you will be more agreeable to flying with me-- _

“You are totally in love with him,” Ginny said sitting up. “What if he’s already met his soulmate?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I am not in love with him…”

“You sounded so confident. No wonder you don’t give anyone the time of day.”

“No one’s exactly declaring their undying love for Sabertooth Granger.”

Ginny winced, “Well… maybe it’s because you haven’t really given them a hint that you’re interested. I’m pretty sure you’ve made yourself sexless to most of the male population at the school.”

Hermione shrugged, “Not my problem.”

“Well… what about Ron?”

“What about him?” Hermione asked. 

“Well… would you date him?”

“Ginny,” Hermione started. “We can be like sisters without actually being related.”

She winced, “I’m not asking because of that. Would you?”

Hermione shrugged, “Hadn’t devoted any thought to it.”

“Well, devote some thought to it. Who else are you going to go to the ball with since Harry’s pinning for some Ravenclaw girl if not Ron?”

Hermione stopped her eyes from returning to the letter and looked at Ginny who seemed rather put out.

“Ginny… are you… are you still crushing on Harry?”

Ginny flushed and Hermione hummed, “I see what this is about. No worries Ginny, Harry and I are strictly friends. I’m not competition.”

“That’s not… Not what I was and…”

Ginny shut her mouth and Hermione smiled, score for her. 

_ Mark me, I’m not saying that as a joke! I mean it. I will get you on a broom somehow. I’ll even duel you for it. _

She laughed. As if she would ever agree to that duel even if she thought she could win.

_ I will have to leave you for a while. My parents have arrived with my High Master, I must attend to them. Pray to any god for me? _

She turned the letter over and reached for the other and laughed at the first line. 

_ I can’t believe the nerve of my parents and my High Master. I never understood the rush to be out of school early, but I understand it now. If I had to deal with another year of this I think I would be put in Azkaban. They came on my break from training to drop off a stack of books to read in preparation for the school year, another training regimen on top of that. I graduate this year, my N.E.W.T.s have already been set. I’m at the top of my class! When I asked why my High Master says it’s because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament! _

Her heart skipped, she gasped and Ginny looked at her, “What is it?”

Hermione dug for her muggle pen knowing it would be strange, but she didn’t have the time to fish out ink, a quill, and drying powder. She scribbled her questions on the back and sent it off.

Viktor sat glowering at the tower of books, soaking his body in a tub of ice-hot potion and trying not to shiver when it went achingly cold. He’d overtaxed himself today he was sure, at least that’s what their very grumpy medi-wizard said.  The letter appeared hovering above him and he grabbed it. 

_ You’ll be coming to Hogwarts for the Tri-Wizard tournament? _

He grabbed his wand and with a whisper wrote his reply before sending it back. 

Hermione threw up her hands in excitement and Ginny sat up. 

“What is it?”

“He’ll be here, Ginny!” She said. “I might very well get to meet him in person!”

Ginny beamed and gave her a sly look, “Oh yeah? Going to snog his face off?”

Hermione sputtered, “Don’t be silly, Ginerva!”

Ginny nodded and turned over, “Right, well I’ll go to sleep now.”

Hermione huffed, setting to writing a full reply this time.


	9. You're The Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and his teammates have a little bonding time in the locker rooms about his Grecian Goddess.
> 
> Hermione may have distanced herself from the Weasleys entirely....
> 
> Oops.

Viktor sighed as the potion turned warm, soaking into his body and looked down at his feet. His grandmother swore up and down that he was still growing and would grow into them in time, but he was already extraordinarily tall for a Seeker. He couldn’t really afford to get any taller by League standards. A teammate wandered in and climbed into the tub beside his shivering at the rising potion level. 

“Hey, Viktor.”

He looked over and grinned, “Mikhail, how’s your face?”

“Ha, ha, didn’t know you young people were so disrespectful.”

Viktor laughed. Mikhail was the oldest member of the team, not even six years Viktor’s senior and the keeper. He was almost holding a cooling poultice to his face.

“Sergei’s pushing hard.”

“He wants to win,” Viktor said. 

“I saw your family and the demon, are you alright?”

Viktor let out a groan, “I am expected to prepare for the Triwizard tournament.”

He grunted, “I am glad that I dodged that bullet. You have no way out?”

“None, all seventh years who are old enough are going to Hogwarts come October.”

Mihkail nodded, “I am sorry Viktor. I wish there was more I could do than saying that, but try not to dwell on it. What is one more claim to fame?”

Viktor glowered at him. Between screaming fans, giggling girls, and generally too much stress, Viktor had found his reprieve in his private flying, martial arts, and meeting up with Anastasia or Olivia whenever they wanted. Olivia spoke of dating seriously soon, so there was no chance of meeting up now that she was out of school. Anastasia would be in Durmstrang for the entire school year leaving them both at a loss. 

“That sigh was of a different frustration,” Mikhail said with a laugh.

“Sounded like a 'I need sex' sigh,” someone said coming in to step into the other tub, his potion was more heat than anything and generally turned him into walking goo. “Nice flying out there, Vik’.”

“Thanks.”

“So what’s the sigh for? Lost your girlfriend to fame?”

“No, not a girlfriend--”

“You have a sex buddy?” Mikhail gasped looking at him. “I would have never guessed! You always seemed so…  _ noble _ .”

Viktor glowered at him as Marin laughed as more players came into the recovery room and Marin took great pleasure in telling them that Viktor had a sex buddy.

“No fair! Lucky newcomer.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever look at you the same way again.”

“It’s not like that, they---”

“They?!” The room erupted as Sergei came in and the entire team began interrogating him about this  _ they _ . 

Viktor didn’t give them much by way of detail, just that the they were only two women whom he’d met in school, it was a beneficial arrangement for all and no one was being hurt.

“And now it’s over?”

“Something like that...I’m going to Hogwarts with the rest of the eligible students… but Karkaroff…”

A few of them hissed, the few graduates of Ddurmstrang. Karkaroff was probably the most self-serving chauvinist, mysoginistic peice of shit that they'd ever met.  

“He is pushing for you to prepare isn’t he?”

“Along with my parents. It seems that they love my fame more than anything else about me.”

Sergei pat him on the shoulder, “This is your last year. It will be over soon.”

“Perhaps we’ll get some more details about these sex buddies of yours!”

They laughed as a new letter appeared on fresh parchment and they oohed. They knew about Viktor’s Greek letters, convinced that he was wooing a Grecian goddess or something.

“She’s from one of the other schools participating in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“So you might meet her in person soon?” Sergei asked with interest. 

“Perhaps…” Viktor said opening the letter to read:

_ I’ll be there too.  I can’t believe it’s been three years. I didn’t ever think that it would actually happen that we may get to meet, but here it is… You’re going to Hogwarts come October. I must admit I’m a tad frightened at the prospect. It’s been easy to talk to you partially because you’ve just been words on a page, a scent, a written voice. I’m a tad frightened that perhaps it won’t be as wonderful as I imagined it. _

_ But doubts aside, it is still rather exciting. I’m sorry you-- _

The letter vanished from his hands and he looked up at Theseus who seemed to sniff the letter curiously.

“Very odd for a love letter not to be scented,” he commented trying to get a better scent. He smelled nothing really beyond the ink, maybe olive oil and shea butter but that was it.

“It isn’t a love letter.”

He hummed and opened it, stepping out of Viktor’s reach from the bath and reading it to the locker room. 

“ _ I’m sorry your parents are stressing you out, especially in the middle of your training. Are you planning to go pro-Quidditch when you get out of school? Or are you training for something else? I’m sure you’ll do fine either way--you’re amazing. _ ”

Viktor flushed, glaring daggers at Theseus as he passed the letter off around the room so everyone else who could read Greek could read a bit out loud, teasing him.

_ “She thinks you’re amazing Viktor… _ ”

“Shut up!” 

Viktor instantly regretted ever wishing for a true brotherly bond, all it seemed to do was to embarrass him. The real problem was that he was naked and they knew how he felt about being naked in front of them: he was still so awkward in his skin in the light. It was much easier in the dark, not to mention he was still growing, muscled from playing Quidditch and the unique brand of athleticism required to fly through the air the way he did, but they were a bunch of grown men. It was awkward for him.

“She thinks you’re amazing Viktor and she doesn’t even know.”

“You haven’t told her?”

“For shame.”

“Probably wants to keep it personal and not bring the “Krazy” part of him into it.”

They laughed as Belov cleared his throat and pitched it in an almost irritatingly sweet and sultry tone. Belov did the best voices and the amount of sex he seemed to be pouring into his characterization of Biblio-logical made the entire locker room go up in catcalls. 

“ _ A friend of mine explained wizarding soulmates. No one ever told me that it was different than muggles. She asked me if because I thought I didn’t have a soulmate that I didn’t date. To explain, this comes on the wings of an ongoing argument about dueling not being a proper thing a young woman should do if she wants to 'catch a young wizard’s attention' _ _. _ ”

“Your Greek goddess is a duelist?” Sergei asked Viktor as he sat helplessly in his bath. “That’s quite amazing.”

“Is she good?”

“She’s undefeated at the moment, could I have my letter back--”

“ _ I don’t think I would ever want a young wizard’s attention who was intimidated because I wield a wand better than he does. I don’t think anyone should stop doing what they want to do because someone thinks it’s inappropriate for their gender. This is the twentieth century for Merlin’s sake! _ ”

Viktor laughed as the other listened on and the letter was passed back to Mikhail. 

“ _ Perhaps I’m crazy, but if I have a soulmate, I don’t think he’s concerned about my wand-wielding abilities. I’m sorry, I think I’ve ranted a bit, but seriously. It’s just so infuriating that I’m expected to watch from the sidelines what I could very well do for myself. I’m not a damsel in distress.  _

_ On a different note, I would never accept that challenge, good sir, even if I thought I could win. I don’t believe flight and I should change our relationship as it stands. We say hello in the halls and I think that suits both of us. I’m friends with several Quidditch fanatics. One of them is a seeker, the other fancies himself a keeper if he ever plucks up the courage to try out, and the third would be a hell of a beater if her mother wasn’t always lecturing her about what was proper to get a boyfriend. _ ”

“She’s friends with a Seeker sounds like competition.”

Viktor snorted and they laughed. 

“Well of course not, who can compete with Viktor “Krazy” Krum?”

Viktor shook his head, “Could you finish reading me my letter if you aren’t going to give it back?”

Mikhail oohed, “Very well.”

“ _ Today, he decided, the Keeper-in-training, to try and hex me! As if I would let him. Apparently, he wants to take my spot on the dueling team, but no one will tell me why since he doesn’t even like dueling. They’re all being very strange about it all, but enough about my current issues. _

_ I spent most of my summer at school sitting for sixth-year exams. I’m taking the N.E.W.T.s this year, I think I’ve told you, and graduating early. The healer is putting in a word for me to start an apprenticeship here and the healing school in Athens before entering the workforce officially, assuming I do well enough on my exams. I’m going to the World Cup with friends and-- _ ”

“Wait, what?” Viktor said looking up at Mihkail. 

“She said she’s going to the World Cup, dear Viktor… perhaps you’ll find her in the crowd.”

Viktor worried his lip as Mihkail continued to read the letter, wondering if their letters were always so long and extensive seeing as they didn’t use owls to carry them back and forth. 

“ _ \--all they can talk about is Ireland this, Bulgaria that. I know you play Quidditch so perhaps you can help me? Viktor Krum? I’ve heard more than once that he’s apparently the youngest professional player in history and has some outstanding record. Quite honestly, I haven’t paid enough attention to them quoting stats ad nauseam while I am trying to read my letters. It seems that every time I get ready to finish reading one of your letters, someone shows up and demands that I stop and 'have fun like a normal person”...which translates to listen to us gush over an athlete. I think sometimes, they’re about three seconds away from packaging up a pair of their knickers and owling them to him. _ ”

Viktor grimaced as they laughed. It was a well-known fact among the team that Viktor  _ hated _ his fan mail as it was about ninety percent women’s knickers and letters about being soulmates because people dreamt of flying.

_ “I’ve suggested it to them several times and everytime they’ve gotten rather tangled in their speech and leave me alone. I think it’s a tactic worth keeping up. But I am serious, if I don’t pick a team to root for one will be thrust open me by the twins and they’re Irish supporters. I think on principle, Bulgaria being closer to Greece than Ireland, I should root for Bulgaria… then there’s you, but I don’t think you’re the type to root for your national team just because. My roommate suggests I root for the “Bulgarian Bon Bon” just because he’s supposedly the hottest person in the game and the closest to our age. I’ve never seen him, though I’m sure that will change soon enough. I also just deplore Rita Skeeter, she’s the worst journalist I have ever had the displeasure of reading. _

_ Tell me how your training is going? How’s your grandmother? Your cousin? Are your teammates still teasing you? I’m going to try and head to bed, though I’ll probably be up before the break of dawn per usual. I think perhaps I added a bit too much mandrake in the last batch of potions I made, but no matter. With me, it’s always better to be too up than down. “ _

Mikhail sighed a little disappointed, he was really hoping for a love letter meanwhile Viktor was grinning not even bothering to scold them before grabbing his wand and scribbling his reply with the edge of it and summoning a length of red cloth, his Bulgarian red scarf that he wore rather frequently before wrapping it together and waving his wand to send it.

“At least she’ll know what you smell like.”

Viktor glowered at them before reaching for his towel and wrapping it around his waist before getting out of the potion bath and letting it out. 

“Enough meddling from you all for one day. I’m going to sleep.”

They laughed as he left and got dressed to head to the barracks he was staying in during training. He shared the room with Mihkail, but it wouldn’t matter. They’d eat and then sleep.

In the morning, Hermione is up before anyone else, even Molly who is generally up in enough time to start making food for the whole house. Hermione gets dressed for a run, leaving her tennis shoes behind, taking her wand and singing her cadence as she ran around the Burrow. The sun hasn’t even risen when she’s doing her gymnastics routine on the flattest piece of land she can find. She flipped and tumbled, leaped and twirled until she was out of breath and she could face the sun. 

Admittedly, she’d started it all when she realized that relying on a potion, or pills for anything would get her nowhere near healing. Not to mention they very rarely did anything when she was having a particularly bad day.  She had anxiety attacks because she had anxiety and she'd read that excercise was supposed to make you relax. Besides that, she needed something that could get her spirits up or at least put something else on her mind for a time. Physical activity seemed as viable an option as anything else. 

It had started at running, then Hermes had suggested gymnastics for the adrenaline rush of flying through the air. Dance for the fun of it and yoga for the calm. She took a seat and closed her eyes, sinking deeper into her breathing, letting the silence and peace of the early morning fill her up before she heard Ginny yelling after her about breakfast. Hermione stood and jogged back towards the Burrow, cleaning her feet and walking in. 

“Where’d you get to?” Ron asked looking at her in her athletic wear.

“Morning routine.”

“Is that a part of dueling?” Ginny asked. “I’m pretty sure no one else on the team gets up that early.

“No,” she said. “It’s just for me. What’s on the docket for today?’

“Flying,” Ron said. “Don’t think you’d care to join us.”

“No,” Hermione said. “I’m quite happy not to.”

“You got a package last night,” Ginny said, eating. “It was on your bed this morning.”

She frowned and finished eating to go see what was in the package. It felt soft and she opened it with a smile. It was a wonderfully warm scarf that smells of the sea wind and… something else like bourbon and fresh cut grass maybe? It was probably the softest thing she’d ever had in her hands. The letter inside made her heart quicken.

_ I will also be at the World Cup. It will be cold in the stands. Root for Bulgaria. Viktor Krum is the youngest seeker, but he’s never not caught the snitch since the beginning of his career. If he catches the snitch this game, he’ll have broken the record. No, I do not root for my country’s team just because. I root for them because they are good people. Don’t worry about returning the scarf, I have plenty in my country’s color. _

_ Yes, my teammates tease me. They took to reading your last letter out loud while we were in the locker room. It is my fault for wishing for brothers that actually cared about me. They call you a “Greek Goddess” and tease me constantly. I think they are more disappointed that your letter is so very personal but not what they were expecting. I assume words of passion and love. _

_ Please do not encourage them to send their knickers to him. I have it on good authority that he hates fan mail that is little more than talk of soulmates and knickers. Dreaming of flying is not enough of a reason to believe your soulmate may be an international Quidditch player. And if not dueling, then there has to be a way to get you on a broom. I would not let you fall. Could I persuade you with chocolate perhaps? Real Swiss chocolate? How about Belgium? I remember you saying you had a particular weakness for it. _

_ As for soulmates, I didn’t know you didn’t know that there was a difference. I’ve written a list of books on the subject below that you may find interesting. I don’t think you don’t have a soulmate. It’s a matter of when you meet, not if for you. I wish there was a simple way for us to figure out if we had a soulmate or not. It would no doubt assuage a lot of anxiety about the idea if we did, but alas with more magic comes more complexity.  _

_ My grandmother teases me about as much as my teammates do and has threatened to set me up with her friend’s granddaughter who goes to school somewhere abroad. She jokes of course, but sometimes I wonder if that is actually the case. All the gods know that my parents like to shove girls at me ad nauseam. My brothers relish it, but I would rather be left alone and find my soulmate through less needle in a haystack of needles sort of way. _

Hermione laughed surprising Ginny as she entered the room. 

“That’s a really nice scarf,” Ginny commented. 

“A gift and an elimination of Fred and George trying to force Ireland on me.”

“Of course not, your letter-bound love has already claimed you for Bulgaria.”

Hermione shut her mouth and glowered at Ginny, “That’s quite enough out of you.”

“Well, what are you two chatting about anyway?”

“Everything,” she said. “We trade letters just about every day.”

Ginny eyed her before sitting down, “You know Hermione… there are people around you to talk to too.”

Hermione looked at her and then folded her letter, setting the scarf on top. She waved her wand at the door to close it and slipped an anti-eavesdropping ward over it. She had a feeling that this was coming with Ginny having spent all summer with Molly while the boys frolicked around and did who knew what. 

Molly had the ability to get into someone's head and screw with their sense of things if you allowed it. She'd learned that the first time she'd met the woman. While Arthur was generally harmless and fascinated with muggle life, Molly had a ruthless and cunning streak that was subtle enough to take some time to realize it was there.

As her mother said, Molly liked to play "older female/maternal games" and she would have gladly put Molly in her place if need be...

It had been quite the bonding moment.

“What is this about, Ginny?”

“Perhaps, I should get Mum…” Ginny started. "She could... explain it a lot better."

Hermione waved her wand, breaking the enchantment, “By all means, let’s invite the whole family.”

She stood up, walked to the door, and pulled it open, Ginny went after her as she descended the stairs and gestured for Ginny to take a seat while she called everyone’s attention. Arthur winced. Molly looked at her. 

“Hello everyone,” she said politely. “Let’s just do this all at once and then I don’t want to hear about it ever again, shall we?”

Fred and George looked at one another and then to Ron before looking back at her.

“What’s this about?”

Ron shrugged. 

“Ginny, if you could please start this conversation?”

She grimaced, “‘Mione, I didn’t mean...Well…Mum was worried and I was worried and well… It’s just… It’s not normal.”

Hermione waited and looked at Mrs. Wesley, “Mrs. Weasley anything to add?”

She flushed under Hermione’s cool gaze and Fred and George looked at one another in surprise. They’d never seen Molly on the hot seat like this. The twins loved their mother but there were times they wished that someone, anyone, would just tell her how it is and not back down when the woman started shrieking.

“Well dear, it’s just you seem rather preoccupied with this… person you’ve been writing to. It’s just not normal.”

“Ron? Fred? George? Harry? Mr. Weasley, would you like to chip in?”

Molly nudged her husband hard and he stammered, “I… didn’t really notice… Is this about the dueling again or…?”

Molly glared at him and he shut his mouth. Fred and George raised their hands. 

“This about those letters you get randomly?”

“Didn’t that start a few years ago?”

“Yes,” she said, “Before you stopped making me the object of your pranks.”

Fred and George grimaced, “Well, you were a bit of a stick in the mud.”

“Still are,” Ron grumbled. 

“Ronald?" She asked looking at him. "Anything to add?”

Ron looked up, “Well… it’s not natural you writing to some random person the way you do. You don’t talk to anyone else really. ”

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head, “I’ve got nothing. We talk all the time.”

Ron gawked at Harry who only shrugged. While Ron was his first male friend, had been since childhood, Hermione actually listened to him. Harry could trust Hermione to tell him the truth and keep secrets... With Ron... 

He could go flying with him, for sure, but Ron couldn't be trusted with secrets. It was why he still hadn't told him about his visions and was planning on telling Hermione when they got a chance for some privacy.

“Thank you, Harry. Mr. Weasley, this is about it being completely normal to write a friend consistently,” she said. “But while we’re on the subject, we can talk about dueling too. Let’s just get it all on the table as I’m sure this will be the first, and last time, I’ll ever be back.”

“Well, it’s just not normal!” Molly said throwing up her hand. “You’re filling Ginny’s head with these crazy ideas about being a duelist and playing Quidditch. You’ll get hurt and scar up your best assets! More than that no boy is going to want to date a girl who is always around a bunch of boys. You’re fifteen, you should be… trying on perfume, flirting with boys--not  _ fighting _ .”

Molly sighed, “I don’t know how it is in the Muggle world but wizards just don’t do things like this! You’re supposed to grow up, get married, have kids...Be a  _ wife _ not a warrior unless you’re defending your kids!”

“Is that all?” Hermione asked looking around the table. 

It seemed that Molly wasn’t done, launching into another tirade on Hermione’s clothes, her need to carry so many books around. How she didn’t comb her hair and so many other things like her relationship with her mother and the idea that her grandfather was turning her into a tomboy. When she finally announced that she was done Hermione smiled coldly and Harry winced at her expression. He knew that her parents were a hot button for Hermione and had witnessed first hand how ruthless Hermione could be when she was put in a mood.

Molly had probably no idea what she'd just done.

“Just a few corrections to make,” Hermione said, pleasantly. “As much as I appreciate the care, I have a mother, who has her own career, her own everything and any distance between us has nothing to do dueling, my hair, or anything you bring up. She gives me perfume and all sorts of things that you’re suggesting, we frolic the city window shopping and everything else you could consider “girl appropriate”. My grandfather is the most supportive and loving man I have ever known, he encourages me to duel just as easily as he takes me dress shopping. And it doesn’t get any less tomboy as gymnastics and  _ ballet _ in the muggle world.”

Molly gawked at her. 

“I didn’t come to Hogwarts to find a boyfriend, nor did I come to be tormented by silly boys with hexes because teaching a girl to duel is frowned upon. I don’t know how it is in the wizarding world, but in the muggle world a woman has every right to defend herself when she’s attacked. I wouldn’t want a boy who won’t even take the time to get to know me, who’d rather call me Sabertooth Granger, bushy-haired or anything else that a  _ coward _ would. I deserve better than that. And finally, my letters to Dragonheart are no different than having a conversation with Harry or Ron--”

“Except you’ve never met him!” Molly said. “You’re getting your hopes up for some boy who’s never even seen your face. You think that’s smart?”

“It’s not as though boys who’ve seen my face, met me in person, heard my voice are particularly interested in talking to me. Save Harry perhaps and I have no  _ hopes _ for Dragonheart. We’re friends.”

“Well, maybe if you made yourself a little more approachable.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t be so afraid to approach,” Hermione countered. “It isn’t as if I’m putting up a Do Not Disturb Sign on my forehead.”

“With all of your books and bushy hair and your clothes? You think that isn’t what you’re doing? Writing to some faceless stranger when there are boys all around you? It’s a fantasy!”

“Being comfortable?” Hermione asked. “Doing what I like? Not what’s expected of me? Fantasy? Fantasy is pretending that just because I put on a little make-up that will change my personality. Will change who I am, change how people treat me in any way that matters.”

Molly huffed, “You are missing the point, Hermione. How long do you expect to keep on like this? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life? You’ll run off anyone who’s even remotely interested in you if you keep it up.”

“Last time I checked, they weren’t declaring their existence,” Hermione said. “And I’d rather be alone than miserable in a relationship. And I’m  _ fifteen _ for goodness sake, I didn’t realize my worth as a woman worth dating had such a short expiration date.”

“You can’t expect--”

“Some one to speak up?” Hermione asked. “No, I can’t. That‘s why I do.”

“Well maybe you’ll attract a confused girl, but that won’t attract a man!”

“I think you mean  _ boy _ .”

Molly gawked at her nonplussed face, “Why do I even bother?! You clearly are a lost cause.”

“Clearly,” Hermione said and turned back to the rest of the group. "And for the record do not confuse my hair texture with lack of personal grooming."

For emphasis, she drew her hand straight through her hair. The strands were soft, curly and easily separated.

"Now, is there anything else you'd like to address?" Hermione asked.

Molly said nothing, burning hot and angry in her seat. The rest of the table sat quietly and for the first time the Weasley house wasn't cowering from Molly's screeching. Hermione was sure it was a novel concept for all of them. 

“Fred, George, take my book again and I’ll hex you into next week. Ron, throw a hex at me again and I’ll show you a thing or two about hexes. Ginny try an intervention of this caliber ever again and you can find yourself haplessly trying on perfume with Lavender Brown and the rest for the rest of my time at Hogwarts. And all of you, save Harry, will find yourselves suddenly in the library trying to figure it on their own. Everyone good?”

Molly got up and left the table, storming out the back door.

“Great,” Hermione said and turned from the room, strolling up the stairs the people left at the table hissed as Arthur picked up his newspaper. 

“Well, I believe that will be the end of that conversation for quite a while.”

Ginny worried her lip and went up the stairs to where Hermione was sitting on the bed, reading her letter, humming to herself, unbothered by the entire exchange. 

“‘Mione… I… I didn’t mean it like that.” Hermione looked over as she took a seat on the bed. “It’s just...well… when you told me about the soulmate thing I thought…I thought perhaps I thought maybe you just were scared, maybe? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you or anything. It came out totally wrong and...”

She sighed in frustration.

“I know,” Hermione said and looked at her. Hermione flicked her wand and cast a ward over the door before setting her letter aside and regarding her. “Perhaps you can tell me what’s actually running through your head?”

Ginny winced and she sat down, “I… I don’t want to do the whole… get married settled down have ten kids thing like Mum. I’d… like to have nice things for once in my life and not have to yell at my partner all the time.”

Hermione nodded, “Partner?”

Ginny flushed and she looked away. 

“It’s okay, Gin’,” she said. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“I just don’t… want to disappoint her. You know how much she’s wanted a daughter with all the boys running around...and she saw you as kind of another one.”

Hermione snorted. Molly was used to control. Control over her husband, her kids, the house, and being bowed down to as the smartest person in the house. She knew that Lily never gave her the satisfaction and because Harry was the son, and stepson, of such favorite wizards she always treated him differently. 

“You can’t let what she wants run your life, Gin’,” she said kindly. “It doesn’t do you any good in the end. And I bloody well won't let her try and run mine.”

“How come you and your Mum aren’t close? You always talk about your grandfather, but not much about your parents.”

Hermione sighed, “Well, my parents love me… it’s just hard for them to deal with sometimes… It’s not that we’re not close.”

“Is it you being a witch?”

“Among other things," she said with a shrug. "We just live in different worlds most of the year.

Ginny opened her mouth when a knock sounded on the door. 

“‘Mione? It’s me, can I come in?”

Ginny swallowed and Hermione waved her wand to let Harry in. He left the door open behind him. 

“Hey,” he started. “Uhm, was I interrupting?”

Ginny worried her lip.

“A little, but you wanted something?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry… I know it’s not exactly… fair to have to hear all that. I think you’re bloody brilliant.”

Hermione snorted, “What are you apologizing for, Harry?”

“I guess… not being brave enough.”

“You’re plenty brave Harry,” she said. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. People are going to think what they want whenever… and thanks. It’s nice to know someone is on my side.”

Harry swallowed and backed out, “I’ll… leave you two to it. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Hermione nodded and watched him go before placing the ward back up.  Ginny let out a breath. 

“You can’t tell anyone, ‘Mione.”

“I wouldn’t,” she assured. “And I appreciate the apology.”

She sighed, “Sometimes… Mum can be pushy, but she means well.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“She may also be trying to get you to notice Ron.”

Hermione snorted, “Right.”

“I’m serious… everyone, but you two, knows he fancies you.”

“Means nothing if nothing is said.”

“What about you?” Ginny said. “Jokes aside…”

“No,” Hermione said. “I don’t. He’s Harry’s best friend and occasionally I feel bad enough for him to help him with his homework.”

“Do you think you could ever?”

Hermione shrugged, “Maybe if he grew up considerably… and I got hit really hard with a bludger.”

Ginny laughed, falling back on her bed, “Shame, though. Mum would love to have another daughter…”

“Mrs. Weasley wouldn't know what to do with a daughter like me," Hermione said with a wry smirk. "She’d also like everyone to have twelve children starting at seventeen.” 

Ginny shuddered, that was probably too true. When it’s time for dinner, the table is quiet while she, Ginny, and Harry chat about the game the next day and they try to explain to her the finer points of the two teams playing. After dinner, Molly ordered Ginny to come help her with the dishes as Hermione went outside with Fred and George. They apologized and thanked her for telling Molly off. While it wasn't the best apology, they at the very least meant it. 

"I'll teach you that spell you wanted to learn," she offered. "Truce?"

They grinned at her. Harry watched with Ron on the sidelines as the twins made a show of casting spells against Hermione’s shield. She gave them pointers and showed them the proper wand movements before allowing them to continue practicing.

“What’s going on with you mate?” Harry asked Ron. “You siding with your Mum against Hermione?”

“It’s not normal,” he said. “Hermione’s always writing to whoever or in her books, she doesn’t really talk.”

“Would help if you wanted to talk to her not just when it’s convenient for you…. Even Draco, who practically hates her, talks to her more than you do.”

“Well, how am I supposed to when it’s not about classes?”

Harry gave him a look, “You… you fancy Hermione.”

“As if! I wouldn’t ever fancy that bushy haired know-it-all, she’s more boy than a girl and that’s just weird mate.”

Harry nodded, keeping his mouth shut. 

“Do you fancy her?”

“No, she’s… like the sister I never had.”

“And Ginny?”

“I don’t think so.”


	10. You're The Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the World Cup

She’d been to large sporting events before, but she was pretty sure nothing would ever compare to the wonder of the Quidditch World Cup. Of course, it was made even better by the knowledge that somewhere in the stadium, within a few miles of her, Dragonheart was enjoying the festivities as well, hopefully free of his parents. Ron went on about Viktor Krum and his scheme to get his autograph if it was the last thing he did.

“Perhaps he can even sign your doll,” Ginny said kindly and Ron glared at her.

“Shut up.”

“It’s a collectible figurine,” Hermione said with a smile. “Be nice.”

Ron looked at her strangely for a moment as they said goodbye to the Diggorys. Arthur set up the tent near the edge of the fairground as Hermione scanned the grounds taking in the sights.

“Come on, let’s go look around,” Harry said, taking her hand and leading her down the paths. “I’ll be your official tour guide.”

Hermione laughed, “Will you now? Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Away from the Weasley camp,” Harry said, mischievously. “Preferably before Ginny starts a war with Ron about his figurines.”

Hermione nodded in understanding, no one wanted to be there for that, especially not with the twins egging them on. They fell into step somewhere around the concession stands.

“How has your summer been?”

Harry hummed, “I’m sure it wasn’t as productive as yours, but I did manage to hex Malfoy.”

She snorted, “You are going to have to start getting along. He is your stepfather’s godson... and your godfather's nephew.”

He wrinkled his nose, “I know that, but…”

“Has it gotten any better?”

Harry shrugged, “I… Not really… I spend most of my time with Remus and Sirius.”

“Harry!”

He winced, “I know!”

Hermione shook his her head, “You know, just because he isn’t your father doesn’t mean he didn’t practically raise you.”

Harry swallowed and she stopped walking upon seeing his expression. There was a darkness and a confusion there that wasn't a good sign in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Can we go somewhere?” Harry asked looking around. “It isn’t something I want to talk about out in the open.”

Hermione nodded and led him away from the activity before casting a circle of wards around the clearing. Harry sat down and all at once his sunny disposition melted away.

“Mum and I… we had a bit of a row.”

Hermione sat down as he sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“About… about him.”

“Severus?”

“My father.”

Hermione looked at him as he trudged through the story. It had been bloody awful. Remus and Sirius had been there to pick him up. They’d started a bit of a fight with Severus over something. Then, Lily had gotten involved and Sirius said something about “the last time” and everyone fell silent.

“I didn’t ask about that part, but I’d never seen Severus look like that. Mum was in a bit of a state, trying to calm everyone down… It’s always like that when they’re left alone for too long. I think Sirius and Remus still resent Severus a great deal… I think it’s a bit mutual, but…”

Severus had responded rather oddly.

“He told them that whether they liked it or not, my father was dead, he was still here and there was nothing any of them could do to change that. Then, he left. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Severus had gone cold. Not that he wasn’t usually reserved with his emotions, but he'd gone cold even for him. Part of him wondered if Severus would pull out his wand and curse his godfather and adopted uncle, but he didn’t. He just left the room.

“And then Mum was in a right state about it. I’ve never seen her so angry… And without thinking I asked why she was so angry about it. About them bringing up the past, about bringing up my Dad in front of me…”

Hermione winced, she had a feeling she knew where it was going. Lily had been rather reserved on telling Harry much about his father, about how they met and the like. She'd told him enough and that James loved Harry, but Hermione always had her suspicions about what Lily was leaving out.

“We argued about it and I told her that I deserved to know…. But I can’t ever ask because of Severus. Remus and Sirius joined in, telling her that I deserved to know about my father and she… she sighed.”

Lily Snape, once Lily Potter, once Lily Evans had looked between the three of them. She’d known that Remus and Sirius still had doubts about the way James died that night.  They knew Peter Pettigrew was responsible for it, but they’d never trusted Severus with Lily or anything.

“She… sat us all down because it wasn’t just me that had questions… I had no idea that Remus and Sirius didn’t know how Dad died… I thought they were just waiting to let Mum tell me… and she told me… what happened that night… or rather she pulled the memory out and let me see it in the Pensieve.”

Hermione sat in the grass, her back to the rock Harry was seated on listening to him. He didn’t want her too near, didn’t want really to talk about it, but he needed to tell someone. Ron was too much in a snit, too occupied with the coming of the game that night to be ready for this, but Hermione… they always talked… Always.

“The night… he came to Godric’s Hollow…” Harry started. “Mum and Dad had had a row.”

It had been about what they usually fought about: their relationship. Lily had told him that if he wasn’t happy, he could leave. James had been livid about her suggestion. It was, apparently, a fight he loved to start with her. She suggested that perhaps she should leave. She’d take Harry with her until James could manage to calm down enough to be sensible. James had been the only one angry and Harry had been in his crib upstairs. She went upstairs to pack her and Harry's things. James had followed her upstairs and they were still arguing when he’d arrived. Lily had moved to grab her wand and James had whirled on Voldemort who regarded them both, freezing Lily where she stood with his long wand pointed at her.

_Trouble in paradise?_  Voldemort had asked, all but gliding into the room.

James had raised his wand, but then lowered it strangely.

_ Are you here for her? _ He asked bitterly before looking at Lily.  _ Tell me Lily, is your precious soulmate here to collect you? Is Harry even mine? _

Lily had flushed with rage,  _ You think this is the proper time? _

_ You can’t escape death, Lily,  _ he’d hissed.  _ Besides, it wouldn’t behoove him to kill Harry. _

Voldemort crossed the room, _ Oh? And why would you say that Potter? _

_ Self-fulfilling prophecies, _ James said regarding the less than human visage.  _ You attempt to kill Harry, you could set the whole plot in motion… No, you’re not here to kill him. You’re here to kill us and take him…Or better yet, Harry isn’t even the child in the prophecy… _

He looked at Lily,  _ He’s Severus’s son isn’t he? _

_ Are you mad? _ Lily asked him.  _ You know bloody well that he’s your son. _

_ Can I be so sure? He is your soulmate. _

Lily glared at him,  _ Do not start, James Potter. _

_ You can have them both, _ James said with an odd detachment.  _  You can kill us both…so long as I get a chance to kill him. _

Lily’s eyes widened and James gave her a cruel smirk with a touch of madness in his eyes,  _ You’ll know what it is to be miserable Lily. To go every day knowing that he’s dead and know it’s your fault. _

Voldemort had laughed,  _ My, my Potter there is hope for you yet, unfortunately, that isn’t in the plans. Avada Kedavra! _

James froze in the burst of green light, falling to the floor dead as Lily stood stock still, telling Harry that she loved him and breathing in short pants. Her wand was in her bag across the room.

_ Don’t move, Lily, this will be over in a second. You don’t really want a child by a man who thought so lowly of you, do you? _

_ I love you, Harry. Mumma loves you so much, sweetheart… _ She closed her eyes as Voldemort raised his wand and shouted.

_ Avada Kedavra! _

Lily dove in front of the crib, snagging Harry out of the crib and barely dodging the green blast. A scream of anguish broke through the air as she whispered warding spells furiously, fiercely as the crib’s parts exploded across the room. She reached to snag her wand out of the bag and screamed, throwing up a barrier against whatever spell Voldemort would cast next. When she’d raised her head, looking down at the teary eyed and shocked baby in her arms who blinked up at her, babbling softly, she turned her head to see the body on the ground through her shield charm.

James was dead.

Voldemort was dead.

_ Lily! Lily! _

She looked up to the doorway to see Severus there looking harried, terrified, paler than usual. He’d crossed the room and walked through her barrier in three quick steps to sink to his knees beside her and pull her close.  They sat in silence for a long time with Harry between them. Harry hadn't been sure 

_ I’ll take you somewhere safe if you trust me.  _  He’d said to her.  _ But we must go now, Lily. They’ll come. _

_ How… _

_ Later, but we have to go now. _

She stood, shaking in his arms. He drew his own cloak around her shoulders grabbed a blanket for Harry and ushered them out of the house, casting magic canceling and other spells to hide their tracks before getting them into an oddly muggle car and driving away from Godric’s Hollow. No words were shared as she held  Harry in her arms in the passenger seat.

_ You hate driving, _  she'd said, rocking Harry gently until he fell asleep.

_ It’s the safest way,  _  he’d said.

_ How… did you know where to find me? That… he was coming? _

_ I always know where you are, _ he said. 

“Harry,” Hermione started as Harry went silent. “You—“

“He took an Unbreakable Vow for her. His loyalty for her safety, that no one, Death Eater or Voldemort himself would ever harm her, ever raise a wand and attack her… It’s what killed him that night.  When she dove in front of the crib… “

He swallowed, “You know… her wedding ring… he enchanted it with protections? Before she married my father?”

“Harry, are you alright?”

“I… was a coward,” Harry said. “When it was over, I just left with Remus and Sirius… I couldn’t even…”

“Harry,” Hermione pressed, turning to look at his turned back, “You’re not even fifteen yet. That’s a lot to deal with even if you were a grown man. Your Mum will understand.”

“How can I even go back to that house with… everything… I can’t… No wonder he hates me.”

“You can,” Hermione said simply. “Severus doesn’t hate you. I don’t think he would watch out for you the way he does—“

“He loves my Mum, there’s a difference.”

Hermione got up and landed a solid smack over the head.

“Ow!”

“Who was it that taught you to brew your first potion? Tie your shoes? Read?”

“Severus but—“

“You think your Mum was the only one getting up in the middle of the night when you were a baby?”

“I…”

“You think a man that hates his stepchild would dote on you the way he does.”

“ _ Dote?”  _ He asked, incredulously. “I wouldn’t call it  _ doting. _ ”

She rolled her eyes, “Harry, just because he can’t smile at you doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care about you. You’re so oblivious!”

Harry huffed.

“He treats you just like he treats Draco.”

“That is a lie—"

“Prove it,” she challenged him and Harry sputtered.

“He’s always picking on me!”

“He calls Draco a little Veelo, a prat, and an insufferably snobbish dimwit.”

Harry huffed, “We don’t always get along.”

“What father and son does?”

“Well—” 

Harry’s voice went dead as he thought about it. Remus and Sirius had always been there, taking him out flying, teaching him to ride a broom, telling him stories about his father… stories that his mother wouldn’t, but when he fell it was always Severus who got him inside and healed him when Lily wasn’t around, or busy scolding Sirius for letting him fly too high. When he was sick, it was Severus usually there with a potion and a book if it wasn't Lily. He was terrible at reading them, but he was always there…

Always there.

Always.

“You think… he cares for me.”

“I know he does,” Hermione said. “He understands, surprisingly.”

“She told me that Severus had been… urging her to explain for a while, but she didn’t want to overwrite whatever thoughts about my father were in my head with it. She wanted to protect me… to protect all of us.”

Hermione nodded, “Well, now you know Harry.”

“My father wasn’t… a bad man was he?”

“I don’t think your Mum would have married him if he was.”

“He was just… hurt? Angry maybe? He said… some pretty terrible things to her…I’ve never seen Mum and Severus argue.”

“Soulmates or not, I’m sure they do.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah…”

Hermione shook her head, “That’s… hard, Harry, but you have the answers to your questions now, most of them at least, yeah?”

“I need to talk to Mum again, I think… and to Severus.”

“Look at you… being mature.”

He huffed and stood up, stretching, “Alright, enough gloom, time to teach you about Quidditch.”

“Or not.”

“I thought you loved to learn.”

Hermione sighed and prayed for someone to save her from Quidditch fans. They headed back to the grounds and wandered around picking up paraphernalia at will. Harry was also rooting for Bulgaria, though she was sure that had more to do with Viktor Krum than anything else.

“He’s the youngest Seeker ever, he started playing when he was sixteen or something like that.”

“What’s his favorite color?” Hermione teased and Harry nudged her as they headed back towards the Weasley tent.

“How is your pen pal doing?” Harry asked.

“Well, he said in no uncertain terms that I should root for Bulgaria because they’re good people and he’s… here somewhere.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, “Really?”

She nodded, “Not sure where, though. I’m… honestly a tad nervous about meeting him in person.”

Harry nodded, “Well, there are a lot of people here Hermione, perhaps you won’t have a chance.”

“Of course not as we both know Ron’s going to beg me to get Viktor’s autograph… or Ginny.”

Ron seemed to think that Quidditch players like Viktor had a better disposition towards young, female fans contrary to all the evidence that said Viktor had the same disposition to anyone who treated him like a thing to be worshipped.

Harry winced, “Yeah… probably.”

“Where have you two been?!” Ginny yelled as they came in, dodging plumes of green smoke. “We’re being overrun with Irish supporters!”

Ron ducked as the twins through bits of green fluff at them.

“The Calvary has arrived!” Harry cheered grabbing for a pillow as a shield and Hermione only shook her head at the madness.

Eventually, they calm down enough to actually just paint their faces, two stripes of black and red paint for Bulgaria on their cheeks, two of green and white for the Irish. The twins carry the Irish flag with them while Harry dons his tall red and black hat.

“Don’t support Bulgaria, Hermione!” Fred said.

“You should be on our side!”

“Sorry boys, I’m under oath,” she said. “And from what I hear the Irish play rather nastily.”

“They’re just ruthless!” George said with a growl. “Let me help you with that scarf.”

She moved, but wasn’t quick enough for George to hurl a color turning spell at the scarf around her neck. It wiggled and reflected the spell back, turning George’s face green for a moment and she laughed.

“It seems that it doesn’t take kindly to having its nationality changed.”

A red card appeared in front of her and she grabbed it, reading the ink. It was actually a Bulgarian red paper doily.

_ Are you here? _

She laughed, tugging her pen out.

_ Yes, and rooting for Bulgaria. This scarf has magical properties, doesn’t it? _

“Who are you writing notes to? _ ”  _ Fred asked, swiping the napkin out the air when it returned to read it aloud.  “ _ It is Bulgarian and will stay Bulgarian. I am glad. I hope you enjoy the game. _ ”

Fred frowned, “That’s a strange love note—on a doily?”

“It’s a nice doily too,” George said. “Probably from the Minister’s box. Are you writing to Malfoy?”

Hermione sputtered, “I doubt it highly.”

“You’re right, Malfoy’s smart enough to root for Ireland.”

She laughed, tucking her note in her pocket.

*

“Viktor!” Mihkail called coming into the locker room. “Are you alright?”

Viktor nodded, “Nervous. Just… she’s here…Wearing my scarf.”

He grinned, “Well then, you best not disappoint the woman now? Right, Dragonheart?”

Viktor stood up finishing his glass of water and food before joining the rest of the team in the pre-game meeting. Sergei was sure that the Irish would play dirty, but they had to be firm, pull no punches and no fouls.

“They’re going to go after Viktor first, it’s their favorite tactic.”

Given that Viktor was easily the best flyer in the league, of course they would go after him first. Eventually, the strategy meeting was over and they were marching towards their entrance gate. The sound of the stadium filling and millions of people had his heart pumping.

“Hey,” he looked up at Gavrail. “We’ll look out for you, alright?”

“Raziram,” he replied with a shake of his head. “It’s not that I’m worried about.”

“Your Greek Goddess?”

He snorted, “Something like that.”

“Alright boys,” Sergei said. “Mount up and remember what we talked about.”

“Yeah, formation, Viktor does some crazy stunt, fan service, fan service, fan service,” Mihkail said clapping him on the shoulder. "Win."

“We’ll be alright. Now, let’s bring that trophy home where it belongs!”

A cheer went up and they mounted to fly out.

*

Hermione gripped the railing, even with the twins’ teasing, there was no way that she would have been able to calmly read a book this high up. Dragonheart must be a rather literal nickname.

“Relax, ‘Mione, it’s perfectly safe,” Harry said from beside her as the openings began.  Leprechauns filled the field and the magic fireworks filled the sky as the fleet of green flew by. The twins screamed in joy cheering.

“Here come the Bulgarians!”

The arrow of red flew right through the dancing leprechaun in the sky. Racing around the field, one of them broke off doing an incredible  show of athleticism on his broomstick before corkscrewing to rejoin his team members. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that as if gliding on the wind rather than flying a broomstick. As the players slowed, the stands lit up with his image. A rather handsome face, square-jawed, a slightly hooked nose, and the darkest eyes she'd ever seen. 

For a moment, the world went absolutely silent and behind her eyelids a vision manifested with the smell of hot, Grecian earth and the sound of swords.

“KRUM!” Echoed across the stadium and Harry cheered along with them, shocking her out of the vision.

“That was… quite amazing,” Hermione said.

“I’m going to learn to do that one day.”

“Please, Harry, practice much closer to the ground.”

Harry laughed as the two teams lined up and the Minister announced for the game to begin with a flick of his wand. Hermione had never considered herself much of a Quidditch fan, but it was hard to look away. She guessed because these were professionals, not children flying around. The first score was for Bulgaria, but fairly quickly their fortunes turned.

“Are they supposed to only aim for the Seeker like that?”

“It’s the Irish way,” Fred said. “Sock him right in the face! _ ” _

“Fred! _ ” _

Viktor dodged the bludger and smacked it back with the back of his broom before moving on. Another one came hurtling towards him and he lead it towards an Irish player before moving out of the way. It hit the wall and rebounded into Gavrail’s bat and through the Irish goal post.

“Lyudmil!”

Viktor turned seeing Lyudmil falling towards the ground and Theseus dove after him, grabbing the back of his uniform to stop his descent as his broom hit the ground, he cringed in pain as Theseus lowered him to the ground.

It seemed that Ireland would be taking it to them harder than usual. A flash of gold caught his eye and he went after it, the Irish seeker following him and then ducking out of the way as the Irish beaters swung their bats and sent the bludgers flying towards the goals as a Chaser threw the Quaffle.

Viktor flew after them, blocking a bludger with the back of his broom and Mihkail dove for the Quaffle, swiping it from the air before an Irish beater hurled the deflected bludger at Mihkail hitting him in the head and knocking him clear off his broom. The Quaffle went falling towards the pitch as did Mihkail.

“Mihkail!” Viktor yelled flying after him.

He caught him by the back of his jersey his shoulder popping free of the socket but Viktor didn't release him at the shot of pain through his shoulder, crying out and praying that the bludgers wouldn't find their way back to him before he got them both to the ground. The referee called for a pause in the game, but it was too late. The second bludger flew right into his face, bloodying his nose and just at the right angle to break it, but not make Viktor lose his grip on his broom or on Mihkail. It seemed that Viktor had a much higher tolerance for pain than he ever gave himself credit for.  The world swam and he heard the points going up as he encouraged his broom to tilt so he could stand on the crossbars and lower Mihkail to the ground. The game paused finally as a medi-wizard came to get them both.

He shoved the medi-wizard and witch’s hands away and forced his way over to where Mihkail lay with his brow cut, his face bloody, and wheezing in pain. The woman worked magic over his skull, but there was no telling.

“He won’t be able to return to playing today, this concussion is too bad. We’ll get him to St. Mungo’s.”

Viktor’s jaw clenched as he heard another score for Ireland, and another.

“Viktor, let someone look at you.”

Their team medi-wizard grabbed him and set him down before jerking his arm back into the socket. Viktor cried out as he panted and let the man wrap his shoulder. It was half time thankfully and the Snitch was still at large. Ireland still had their full team and they would be down a Keeper, not to mention the point difference.

“Viktor? Are you alright? Where’s Mihkail?”

“You can’t fly like this.”

“They took him to St. Mungo’s. Those Irish bastards did this on purpose.”

“Will he be alright?”

Sergei said nothing as the medi-wizard tried to fix Viktor’s nose and staunch the bleeding. The man wasn't gentle, nor elegant with his fixes, but it would do enough to stop the bleeding.

“We need a plan.”

“Without a keeper—no seeker,” Marin said. “Fuck.”

“Fuck!” Lyudmil yelled. “Those fuckers blindsided me.”

“Viktor?” Sergei asked.

“They’ll regret this.” He said and they looked at him, not really sure what to make of the tone in his voice.

With the blood running out of his nose still, a slow trickle, to add to the gore the bludger had made of his face, they weren't sure who they were looking at beyond the bruising.

“You can’t fly like this,” Gavrail said.

“And Mihkail can’t fly at all,” He said holding out his hand, “Give me that potion.”

“With your injuries, you’ll only have thirty minutes at most,” Sergei siad.

“That’s enough,” he said glaring at the medi-wizard and getting off the bench. He could still breath and hold onto his broomstick. That was enough to catch the snitch, even if he had to catch it in his mouth damn it.

“Viktor…”

He went to the strategy board and grabbed a piece of chalk.

“We have to get rid of their seeker,” Viktor said. “I can do that, but I need you to cover me and if you can knock them out of the sky while you’re at it that would be great.”

“Viktor…are you sure about this?” Sergei asked. “I would not like to face the wrath of your grandmother, thanks.”

Viktor looked at him, “Mihkail… didn’t deserve that, he’s been… like a brother to all of us. We won’t let them get away with it, even if we lose. They’re going to hurt for months.”

“Fuck yeah!”

*

“Bulgaria’s done for,” Fred said. “Without their star seeker, and no Keeper? It’s over.”

Hermione worried her lip, the image of Viktor hanging on to his teammate and crying out in pain had chilled her. Dragonheart had told her that the Bulgarian team was close, but to see it in such brutal detail had turned her stomach. Bloody and bruised, in pain and hanging on from that perilous height had made her almost sick. When they came back, she’s surprised and relieved to see Viktor on a broom with the remaining six of his team.

“Dumb Krum, there’s no way they fixed him up enough to fly.”

But if Dragonheart was right, and if what Viktor had shown was true, then it wouldn’t matter. Bleeding or not he’d fly because his team needed him.

“Go Bulgaria!” She heard herself calling out cheering his name along with the rest of the crowd as the game picked back up.

_ It looks like the Bulgarians aren’t giving up without a fight, even with the Captain and Keeper out for the count. _

_ Let’s see what they’ve got up their sleeves. _

Viktor flew up above the pitch to scan it and waited, he saw the Irish Seeker watching him, betting on his injury to slow him down. He was going to use Viktor to locate the snitch and then snatch it. 

Viktor planned on decommissioning him permanently. He felt the potion kicking in and set his feet against his broom’s cross bars before taking off and, like he thought, the Irish player followed him.

_ Looks like Viktor’s got his eye on the snitch! 10 points for Bulgaria—Another 10 points for Bulgaria! Looks like they are out for blood! _

Viktor kept his focus straight, feeling the Irish seeker following him, accelerating in his windstream, more freefalling than anything and Viktor turned his broom at the last second leaving the Irish Seeker to crash with the full speed and force of gravity into the ground.

_ Viktor Krum executes a terrific Wronski Feint! Ireland is without a Seeker. Seems like he didn’t take being hit in the face very kindly. _

He watched Lyudmill whack a bludger into the Irish Chaser causing him to turn and fly out of the Quidditch lines and surrender the Quaffle to Marin. It seemed the plan was working with the exception of Ireland’s lead. He waited, watching the field. Andon had taken up an impromptu position as Keeper leaving Theseus and Marin to score and Gavrail and Lyudmil kept eyes on the field’s Bludgers, seeming to be battling primarily with the Irish beaters.

They needed to get rid of the Irish Keeper. He prayed that Lyudmil and Gavrail could do it. They sent the two bludgers hurtling towards the Keeper too fast and too powerful to stop when one of the Chasers took one of them and deflected the other off its path to the Keeper.

It wasn’t what he was hoping for, but watching the Chaser go down was well worth it.

“They are not happy,” Ron said softly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Fred said. “They’ll never win. All Ireland has to do is keep their lead—“

_ 10 points to Ireland! It isn’t looking good for the crowd favorites. _

Viktor glanced at the scoreboard, if he caught the Snitch now, the game would be over and they would lose.

“Viktor!”

He looked down at Theseus, “Do it. We’ll get those last points.”

Viktor nodded and swooned a bit, he’d already burned through twenty-five of his thirty minutes. Five minutes to catch the snitch, five minutes before it hurt too much to maybe even fly and he crashed to his death. He took a breath and scanned the field watching his teammates fight hard, using the last of their strength to send bludgers chasing after the Chasers. Marin flew past the goal catching the Quaffle and cut across the field, passing it to Marin just a Viktor saw the flash of gold and took off. It was so far away.

_ 10 points for Bulgaria! Viktor’s got his eye on the Snitch. Sagona is down! _

“Even if they catch it now it’s over,” Fred said. “One beater, three chasers? It’s over. _ ” _

Hermione leaned forward, her hands gripping the railing watching and praying for something to happen. Praying for a miracle-- since when had she become so invested in the game? Her heart pounded in her chest and she could almost feel the wind on his face from how intensely she watched Viktor maneuver around the field.

Lyudmil swung sending a bludger hurtling towards the Keeper as Theseus sent the Quaffle flying through the hoop.

_ 10 points to Bulgaria! _

Someone took a quaffle to the face, but went speeding off towards the other goal, Andon, she thought. He moved fast, the remaining members of the team acting as a shield for him to score with Viktor still racing around the pitch, following the Snitch’s flight path.

“ _ That Snitch is the devil, _ ” Harry whispered watching it change directions so often it was a miracle that he could even keep up. “He’s not going to catch it…”

“He’ll catch it!” Ron said. “Krum! Krum! Krum! Krum!”

_ 10 points for Ireland! _

Hermione winced and her eyes widened as Marin yelled and tossed the quaffle across the field, midway through. It seemed that Theseus punched it further and then Andon knocking the Irish Keeper straight through the goal along with the quaffle.

_ 10 points for Bulgaria! _

_ 10 points for Bulgaria! _

_ 10 points for Bulgaria—Acropolis is down! _

Fred and George cheered watching the Irish chaser fly forward heading towards the hoop.

_ 10 points for Bulgaria! If Viktor can catch the snitch-- it looks like O'Conner is going for the goal! Bulgaria just may lose. _   


Viktor felt the potion’s effects slipping and pushed his broom forward, straight through the field, leaving a wind track strong enough to blow people’s hats away, corkscrewing and leaning off the edge of his broom. It was so close. So close. So—

“VIKTOR!”

He felt it, the tip of his broom, sending him spiraling forward, tumbling until his broom stopped, his legs hooked around the cross bars and hanging upside down. His body filled with pain, but it was there solid in his hands.

_ VIKTOR KRUM HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! The match is over! _

He felt himself laugh as his broom lowered him towards the ground, the crowd went up cheering and he let go as soon as he was close enough, landing in a heap on the ground, panting, a grin on his face and the Snitch in his hand.

_ What a hair-raising match ladies and gentlemen! _

“Viktor!” Someone called, but everything was going black.

“Did we win?” he asked the darkness, passing out on the pitch. 

It felt warm despite the pain that was creeping into his consciousness, he felt... light...

And he wondered if Biblio-logical had truly enjoyed the game.

*

Hermione couldn’t believe it but heard herself screaming with Ron and Harry for Bulgaria’s victory. The Quaffle having passed through the hoop mere seconds after Viktor had caught the snitch and it was verified.

“Krum! Krum! Krum! Krum!”

The sound of the Bulgarian national anthem came with Veelas crowding the field with their victory, but for Viktor it was all indistinguishable noise and pain pulling him under into unconsciousness.

*

Viktor woke up to the sound of the noise and his grinning teammates, everyone looking worse for wear and something in his hand.

“We… lost?”

“We won!” Marin cheered, wincing at the pain in his side. “Hell of a catch, Mr. New Quidditch Record!”

Viktor laughed, “Mihkail?”

“He woke up just a few minutes ago at St. Mungos, complaining of a headache and demanding to know the score. We were going to see him after we received the trophy.”

“Leave it in his room while he heals up.”

Viktor laughed and struggled to sit up, looking at the object in his hand: the World Cup Snitch.

“You got another love letter, we didn’t read it, but perhaps you should hold off on reading it until after the vultures come?”

Viktor nodded taking the letter from Theseus and contemplating the little golden ball in his hand. He tucked the letter into his robes and got onto his feet. He wanted to go to sleep, to lay down and sleep for a week, but he managed to get himself onto a crutch and follow his teammates out. 

“Ten sickles says Skeeter misspells Viktor’s name again.”

He grumbled, “Oh no, she changed his name remember? Bulgarian Bon Bon.”

Viktor glared at him as they lined up to receive the trophy and the crowd cheered so loudly he wasn’t sure he would ever hear again. His eyes flickered across the crowd wondering if maybe he could pick her out of the crowd, knowing that he knew nothing about what she looked like. The reporters hounded them about the win, about Viktor diving for Mihkail and the change in gameplay, Mihkail’s injury and how Viktor felt about breaking the standing record with such little time of professional play under his belt. 

“Good,” was all he could say and tell them that he was going to sleep for at least the rest of the summer.

“Any special girl in your life?”

“N--”

“What about your Greek Goddess?” Gavrail whispered into his ear and Viktor flushed, scowling at him. The rest of team gave mischievous grins.

“No,” he answered finally.

“Most eligible Quidditch star, Witch's Weekly is dying to know what you look for in a girl. What catches your eye?”

Andon coughed making the rest of the team laugh as Viktor glowered at them.

“I'd rather not say.”

She pouted, but didn't stop, “Last one from Witch’s Weekly: Have you found your soulmate?”

Viktor frowned, he should have expected such questions, really.

“No.”

Somehow, when the article by Rita Skeeter, and several other gossip columnists, comes out days later about his searching for his soulmate and potentially having a secret lover hidden away somewhere, he can't be surprised. What he does instead is bewitch the resultant fan mail of women claiming to be his soulmate to attack his teammates for their snickering. Mikhail laughed from the sidelines as they flew away laughing at the headline about the Bulgarian Bon Bon’s secret mistress and the number of claims coming out about him. The only thing that saves them from Viktor’s wrath is the arrival of a rather long letter. 

“She soothes the wild beast, it must be love--Ow!”

Mikhail laughed as Marin was slapped with a thick envelope that smelled rather strongly of perfume and exploded into a full leather and lace lingerie set across his face. Sergei came into the locker room seeing the underwear littering the floor and shook his head at Viktor’s flushed and scowling face.

“Well, so long as you don't win the Triwizard Tournament, or participate at all, you way have only a few months of this to worry about.”

He laughed. How likely was that? 


	11. Head’s Spinning Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione just can't seem to catch a break. But, she's a survivor and everything will be just fine now that Dragonheart is actually at Hogwarts...
> 
> Right?

It was a disaster. She sat fuming in the Infirmary. Severus’s words and the laughter of the whole class in her ears.  To think that she was rooting for Severus and harry to reach a middle ground! She would have to retract her vote forever for this.

“Okay dear, open wide and tell me when,” Poppy said as Hermione sighed and opened her mouth as she began to shrink her teeth back to a normal size. 

She may have gotten this, but Draco would rue the day he thought it a good idea to do this, sure he'd been aiming for Harry, but if they would both get over their odd rivalry, love-hate, sexual tension crisis none of it would have happened. She had a rather nasty hex for him come the next dueling class involving scales and-- 

“My dear?”

Hermione looked into the mirror and told her to stop. They were… normal. Perfectly aligned in her mouth. She was sure it was the first time she'd ever liked her smile. Her parents probably wouldn't be happy about it, but they'd understand once she'd told them about how absolutely horrible Draco's hex had been.

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey.”

“Go on then, everyone is gathering to welcome the competition.”

Her heart stuttered. Dragonheart had written to her earlier, updating her on how far away they were. She hurried towards the Great Hall as a note appeared.

_ We are here. _

She moved to join the Gryffindor table next to Ginny and across from Ron and Harry. The message was rather terse for him. She pulled out her pen and scribbled on the back. 

_ Are you okay? _

_ Just annoyed. I'll tell you about it later. _

*

“Viktor,” Karkaroff said. “With me.”

Viktor gave him a flat look and moved to the back of the procession after patting Pietro on the shoulder with how nervous he was.

“You'll be fine,” Viktor said.

He watched the girls of Beauxbaton flutter into the hall, their headmistress just behind as Viktor stood at the back. More angry than anything, hunching his shoulders and wishing that he would suddenly shrink several more inches and completely disappear. He took a breath feeling the song of Durmstrang as the boots stomped in, Pietra in front stomping his staff in time with the beat of the marching song. They were all in when Karkaroff started to move. Viktor walked forward, forcing himself to walk ahead of Karkaroff and ignore the awed gasps, his anger from the letter from Ilya still hot in his blood. He stepped aside as Igor walked up to Dumbledore, joining the rest of Durmstrang as one of them thankfully.

*

Hermione watched them walk in, wondering if she could pick Dragonheart out of the group even though there was no way to do so. They weren't all of dark features, but she knew next to nothing about what he looked like and none of them seemed to be trying to scan the room to find anyone in particular.

Rather than singing their very silly school song along with most of the school, she almost laughed at the uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the foreign students. She couldn't ever blame them for it. 

*

“You think she's from Beauxbaton?” Vlad asked him once they'd sat down for dinner.

“I don't know,” Viktor said scanning the room. He knew nothing about the way she looked like. She was of a Greek lineage, so that should have given him a few hints, but there was no one he could see that really stuck out. They sat down at the Slytherin table and he looked up at the banner.

“She is from Hogwarts,” Viktor said with a bit of awe.

“How do you know?”

“Snakes,” he said pointing up to the banner. “She talked about snakes giving her trouble.”

Viktor worried his lip. That meant that he wasn't sitting anywhere near where she would be. He sighed. This would be harder than he thought. They ate and Viktor did his best to keep his eyes from meeting anyone's in particular.

“Which one is he?” Ginny asked leaning against Hermione.

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “I don’t know what he looks like.”

Albus started the secondary announcements just after everyone had served themselves regarding the Triwizard Tournament, the Goblet of Fire and the revived tradition of the champion’s assistant. While the old adage was that each Champion was alone in the journey, the wizarding world understood that no journey was ever truly made alone. Great masters had apprentices, great warlocks had understudies and pages-- this would be no different.

“Each school’s Headmaster has submitted a list of names for the assistant position. An old tradition that is to be revived with the newest incarnation of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as people whispered. The position was simple, you would be considered a student of the school of your assigned champion. You’d wear their colors, their uniform, and immerse yourself in the culture of the school during the day. The three schools would be merged so there would be Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students in all of the upper level classes. You’d sit with them, get to know them and support their champion. It was a chance for international understanding and cooperation. The students on the list were selected for a myriad of reasons, none of which were disclosed. The Triwizard’s assistant would be responsible for helping them with research, execution, and whatever else was necessary to get through the tournament. The pairs would be matched after choosing based on how compatible their magics were. Because the Triwizard champions were under magical contract to compete if they were chosen, the Ministry had decided to extend that same restriction to the assistants. Though the assistants didn’t have to be seventeen to be entered, the fame and glory that would come with supporting the winning champion would be unimaginable. They'd share in the spoils of victory in the form of galleons as well as glowing recommendations and things from the Ministries of Magic of the three concerned countries. Seven assistant candidates would be put forth by the Heads of each school, twenty-one in total.

“Due to the need for the grounds, the Quidditch cup will be canceled. In its place, the Dueling Matches will be worth their usual amount, plus the value of the Quidditch matches. Your House Heads will be making their selections and hosting try-outs within the coming weeks.”

Ginny nudged her, “Looks like the competition will be even fiercer.”

Hermione nodded, she wasn’t the only female duelist as of last year, but she was the only one that was always in a triple match. She was hoping to change that this year with McGonagall’s idea to have her help out with a few dueling classes during her free periods. The champions would have three days to enter their names and then they, and their assistants, would be chosen.

“What if I get chosen?” Ron asked and Harry scoffed. 

“To do what? Teach them how to fail Potions?”

“What about Seamus?”

“Blowing up a person-- sounds smart.”

Ron huffed, “Doesn’t matter, they won’t choose anyone from our year.”

Harry shrugged as they continued down the hall. The sound of thunder twisting through the sky and he looked over to where Hermione once was.

“Where’d she go?”

They turned to see Hermione racing towards the corridor, charming her bag to stay sealed, hidden and was shortly joined by Luna to go running into the rain, laughing as the rain hit them and water splashed at their footfalls.

“Why does she do that?” Ron asked.

“She said it reminded her of when she was little,” Harry said. “Like a piece of home at Hogwarts.”

“No one goes playing in the rain in London.”

“Greece,” Harry corrected as the downpour grew louder and the games began. 

Luna raised her wand conjuring a horse of water to go speeding towards Hermione. She laughed raising a thick water shield and taking over Luna’s horse to fire great balls of water towards the Ravenclaw girl.

“They’re mad,” Ron said turning away. “I’ll see you in the common room, Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry said watching him go and leaning against the corridor's stone half-walls to watch the duel.

“ _ Aqua Moldus! _ ”

“ _ Aspida Nero! _ ”

Luna waved her wand trying to outflank Hermione, but Hermione only glided, tossing the bulk of her sopping curls back and digging in her heels.

“ _ Empros Poreia!” _

*

They heard Luna’s scream of surprise as they came out of the hall to see the duel in the downpour. Luna was carried up and around before sliding across the ground, wet and laughing. The sons of Durmstrang were incredibly confused because who in their right minds played in the rain?

“English girls are strange,” Pietra said. “What are they doing?”

“Playing,” Vlad answered. “In the rain.”

Viktor watched as the dark skinned girl, clearly of African descent, with dark curly hair, wet and voluminous even under the weight of the water, hanging to her mid back helped the near platinum blonde girl up. They were of different houses, but laughed together, chatting excitedly before the darker girl in red and gold trimmed robes began to demonstrate a wand movement, a red length of cloth wrapped around her wrist.

For a moment, the world went silent and he swooned. A heady rush of the Mediterranean waters over his head and carrying him out to sea along with the smell of magic and a pulsing warmth that he just couldn't explain.

“Perhaps they are training?” Vlad said bringing Viktor back to reality.

Viktor doubted that but turned away. Karkaroff was calling a meeting to warn everyone who was to submit their names for the Cup and who had been submitted for the assistant position. It didn’t surprise him that those chosen to be an assistant were at the bottom of the class while those who would be allowed to submit their name for the Triwizard tournament were at the top. He wondered if the other schools would be so underhanded.

In the morning, he’s greeted with a letter. He finds himself trembling to open it. 

_ Welcome to Hogwarts! I am not sure of who you were in the line-up, but I somehow don’t think you were responsible for that rather amazing firebird and show. Much better than our silly song. Beware of the Slytherin table however, they are rather crafty when they wish to be. _

_ Good luck on your first day of classes. Since English isn’t a language you use very often, I’ve sent you these earphones that may make it a little easier to pick up the language faster. Mind you they don’t work for more than an hour or so at a time, but they should be enough to get you through classes should you need.  _

He smiled at the small contraptions and carried them with him to the Great Hall for breakfast. He scanned the room again while writing his reply, but was only able to pick out a few faces from the night before. The hall was filled with laughter and the sound people eating before people started to dissipate. 

His first class was with the Severus Snape, the Potions Master and while he enunciated rather well, without inflection or accent, it was still a bit of a challenge to fully understand what Severus was talking about. He slid on the earbuds and wasn’t exactly surprised that things were much easier thereafter. On his free period, he finishes the letter that he’s been meaning to finish for some time while trying to ignore the slowly growing squad of giggling girls that liked to follow him around. Even in the library where he’d done his best to find a place that was too secluded to be found, they gathered and giggled, drawing more attention to him. It was hard to be unnoticed when there was a group of noise around you. 

“Is hard to be king, yes?” Pietra said his English almost grating on Viktor’s nerves after a morning of giggling. 

“Something like that,” Viktor replied, wondering if she was in class at the moment or perhaps busy in some other fashion, but whatever it was he would like her to reply soon.  He was actually hoping that she would be in one of the classes he was assigned to, but that didn’t seem to be the case. By lunch, he was a tad antsy, the giggling grating on his nerves and making him a little sick.

*

Hermione sighed with relief sitting down at the table for lunch, loading her plate with her usual and taking the time before everyone else she knew made it to the table. Marco, Anthony and the others would want to talk strategy and recruitment even though they would be having try-outs that evening. After lunch, she would be teaching a dueling class along since McGonagall, this would literally be the only chance she had until about dinner to read Dragonheart’s letter and reply. 

_ Thank you for your warm welcome. Hogwarts is a very strange school with a very strange song, but I suppose it is to be expected. Your gift is marvelous. I had Potions first and I had not realized how hard it would be to have classes in English when I am so used to other languages. They helped a great deal, perhaps when we meet I won’t have such a bad accent. _

_ As I promised, I will give you an update on my parents and Karkaroff's latest offense against my person. I have been regulated to a totally separate training schedule on top of my Quidditch training and told that I must enter the Triwizard Tournament. I believe that they want me to win only brag about it, they don’t seem to care that their youngest son could die. I thought for sure Quidditch would be the end of it since all of my brothers played, my father played, but apparently not. I’d rather not think about it either way.  _

_ Honestly, I would have submitted my name to the goblet without their pestering as it’s a challenge more for my mind and heart than my skill on a broom. The fight now is to convince myself that despite their meddling, and anything they could gain from it, it isn’t about them. It’s about what I want to do. I love my school, my classmates have been like brothers to me--it would be for them that I would want to bring the trophy back with us. It would be for myself that I want to test myself. _

_ I am hoping to see you duel, but I fear you will not tell me which house you are in as that might give it away. I will not ask around. I'm sure I could figure it out based on the details you've given me, but I will respect your wishes to remain unknown. I want to meet you, but only when you’re ready.  In the meantime, I will try not to hex my High Master, pummel a Slytherin, or otherwise ruin my last year of school. I will also be apparently attending most, if not all, of the duels since we may be expected to showcase our own brand of it. I am not sure since Karkaroff is the kind of paranoid that makes him a slimy cheat.  _

_ Now that I am here and so close to you, I’m beginning to understand how you feel about us meeting. I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous thinking that perhaps I have already seen you in the hallways. What you may think of me as you have already seen me for sure. I wonder if I’m what you’re expecting, if I’m good enough, I suppose.  _

_ I honestly can’t believe that I’m writing all of this, but I suppose that’s the nice part about you remaining only as words on pages. It makes it easier to be honest, like a voice from the void.  _

Hermione considered that for a moment and pulled out her quill. She sent it just as Ginny came hurrying in begging for a sneak peek of what she could expect in dueling class. Hermione shook her head.

“No cheating.”

She pouted and took a seat across from her, “No fun.”

They ate as Ron and Harry and the rest of Gryffindor joined them before her dueling teammates arrived and began exactly as she thought they would.

“We’ve got our picks,” Marco said. 

“And we’ll see them all during try-outs.”

“Come on,” he said, with her vote they could override the try-out process. She was currently the highest scoring duelist they had for both elegance and speed.

“No favorites,” she said. “You start picking favorites and we start losing.”

“But--”

“No buts,” she said. “Or should we see what Professor McGonagall has to say about it?”

They grumbled, but shut their mouths. She ate and went to the library for a moment, wandering through the shelves to find the book she was looking for, not noticing the tall, slouching figure beyond the giggling that surrounded the area where she usually went to take her privacy.

“Honestly, this is a library,” Hermione hissed. “At least pretend to know what that means.”

The girls glared at her, but before they could get a word out the tall figure moved, grabbing his bag and leaving the area. They ignored Hermione just after and followed him dutifully out the door. She grabbed the book she’d been looking for and headed to check it out. 

They would be having the class in an old classroom where they used to have charms. It was a long classroom that had been cleared out and repurposed for dueling, she suspected that it would become the new dueling practice room as well. Viktor found himself in the classroom with student of all houses and grades along with Professor McGonagall.

“Welcome everyone to the first session, I’ve managed to call in a favor to have Ms. Granger of the Gryffindor team come in to help. Along with her is Mr. Viktor Krum of Durmstrang.”

A whisper went around, giggling and Viktor was beginning to regret it immensely, until he saw her up close. It wasn’t her face or her body, but the way she carried herself. Her hair in a thick fizzy cloud tamed back from her face with a headband and longest parts braided together in a thick braid down her back. 

“Ms. Granger, if you please.”

She slid off her outer robes, leaving only her school uniform. It was big on her with the exception of her skirt, stockings and shoes, the sweater seemed to cloak her figure rather than accentuate, the extra fabric making it easy to move as she spelled her cloak aside.  He was a tad surprised to see her legs clad in dark stockings leading down into sensible black shoes. For one, most of the girls who had been following him around preferred long socks over their skinny legs. 

Her legs were anything but skinny which made him think she had to be an athlete and not just a duelist. Then again, all of “Ms. Granger” seemed to not fall in with most of the school’s population. Her skin is the sort of rich brown he remembers from the heat of Africa, her features hail strongly from there too with something of Europe in her nose. A round, heart shaped face, strong shoulders, and a wicked smile she was a visual conundrum and his less honorable side wondered what exactly her bulky school uniform was hiding. Viktor shut his eyes trying not to flush at the thought. He was apparently more geared up than he thought.

“Can anyone tell me three ways to win a duel?”

She looked around selecting a Hufflepuff first-year who rattled off the answer: injury, incapacitation, or forfeit.

“Correct, basic dueling etiquette…”

Viktor stayed to the back of the class watching her. She didn’t give any side her back for very long. Taking care to turn and talk to everyone, but it’s the way they look at her that tells him that she’s relatively important in the school. An upperclassmen that was well-known, probably. To teach a class, she was certainly well liked by the staff at least.

“Now let’s make this fun shall we?” She said that smirk of hers. “Pair up by year, boy and girl if you can manage it.”

She came towards him looking at him and for a moment she was someone else. The same face but older perhaps, in a white toga fluttering in the sea-crisp wind of the coast.

“Mr. Krum, it looks like we’ll be paired together.”

“Viktor,” he said roughly. “Krum is father.”

She smiled and nodded, “Viktor, then.”

He followed her towards the center of the classroom. 

“I’m going to show basic disarming and perhaps if we have time and Viktor is up to it we’ll have a bit of a duel.”

Viktor looked at her seriously as she stood in a the familiar English dueling way. It was very much British: straight lines and propriety. It had a very refined aesthetic that translated into the way they dueled as if it were just a matter of honor and not life and death. Durmstrang taught students to duel as if every duel would be the last.

“The English style of dueling focuses on being still, steady until you need to move to follow through with your spells. That’s what I’ll show you. First, you bow or curtsy if you  like.”

Viktor bowed to her as she curtsied. 

“Once the challenge is accepted you take your positions at the ends of the dueling strip if you’re in singles. If you are in a team, you would decide with the other two your configuration.”

Viktor watched her walk backward and took her lead. 

“The referee will give the go ahead and from there you duel. The most basic spell for disarming is Expelliarmus. Incapacitating could be as simple as removing them from the dueling bounds, or making them unable to move. Injury is an option and only counts if it involves the person’s wand hand otherwise it’s a foul and you’re penalized.”

She turned and Viktor was oddly intrigued by this fourth year girl who seemed to have such command of dueling knowledge, of the room at large. She split the room in half, mixing the teams between her and Viktor leaving them to coach their own students before selecting three each from the group to participate in a mock duel. Viktor’s team won, made up of primarily third years, but Hermione gave her team all high fives and pointers. 

“You need more power in your back leg.”

“I’m scared,” the little girl said. 

She smiled, “It’s okay to be scared, but don’t ever let fear stop you.”

“Are you scared when you duel?”

Hermione scoffed, “Shaking in my boots every time, but if I let fear stop me I don’t think I’d be at Hogwarts.”

The girl frowned at her words and looked at her hopefully, “Can I try again?”

Hermione grinned, “That’s the spirit.”

A boy stepped up, sneering at her and she flinched. 

“Someone you know?”

“He’s… my cousin,” she said softly. “He’s rather mean.”

She nodded and led the girl to her place on the dueling strip, “Remember, strength in your back leg and focus. Channel your fear into your wand work.”

She nodded and the singles duel commenced. 

“On your mark. Go!”

“Expelliarmus!” The girl cried, forcing the spell out before the boy could say anything. His wand went flying towards her and clattered at her feet.  Hermione nodded as he looked dumbfounded and she looked surprised.

“I did it….”

“You did it,” she said. “Good form.”

She beamed at Hermione, shuffling back into the crowd as more people began to step up and it became apparent that there was a bit of a grudge being played out. When the bell chimed, Hermione called everyone's attention. 

“See you next time. Don’t forget dueling tryouts for first years is tonight!”

The girl hugged her tight, “Thank you, Hermione.”

She beamed, “You’re welcome, go on. Get to class, 'kay?”

She nodded and headed off with her friend before looking at Viktor. 

“Thank you,” she said. “They were really excited to have a real celebrity here. I think it made them a little braver.”

Viktor nodded, “I must go.”

“Of course,” Hermione said waving him goodbye and turning to speak with Minerva. “Well?”

She nodded, “I believe this is one of my better ideas.”

Hermione laughed and grabbed her cloak, her bag and headed off, pondering that strange vision she’d had when she’d looked up at Viktor, it felt a bit like one of her dreams. Since there was nothing that said it was really related to being near your soulmate, she didn’t think much of it beyond she was getting old enough for that part of her magic to become active. 

She didn’t think about it as she headed to her private session with Severus, two parts N.E.W.T.s material and one part healing test preparation. It went on that way for the next three days before everyone gathers in the Great Hall for the drawing of names. The Goblet of Fire filled the room with a low blue glow giving Hermione just enough light to read by and ignore the twin’s attempt to trick the aging circle and the goblet. It didn’t work, leaving them to squabbling old men on the floor and then the Durmstrang group arrived with Viktor taking the lead. His shoulders as hunched as usual, with his usual shuffling walk. She knew it at once as the mark of someone who spent more time in the air than not, but also the mark of someone who truly didn’t want to be noticed. 

How could an international Quidditch star not want to be noticed? She’d wondered that while seeing him practically trying to cram himself into the shadows in class. Viktor placed his name in the goblet and turned, meeting her eyes for just a moment and against she felt the world shift. The smell of the Mediterranean heat and waves, that same face in a blood red toga, his cheek smudged with blood and then the vision was gone as he walked back to the Durmstrang group. 

The time chimed and Dumbledore stepped forward to begin to draw names. Hermione looked across the Durmstrang group almost praying that whoever Dragonheart was he didn’t get picked, praying that maybe he was trying to find her too before shaking herself free and returning to her book. She had an essay to write, things to do and prepare for with Dueling Season coming up. There was training and she still had to brew the next month’s batch of potion as well study for her N.E.W.T.s. 

“Fleur Delacour!”

“Cedric Diggory!”

Hermione packed her bag and headed out of the door, her head in her book, walking along to somewhere she could get some quiet. Now that she knew the Hogwarts champion was not someone she knew very well beyond Quidditch and the girls whispering about him, she had no more reason to be there. Even if Dragonheart had been selected, she wouldn’t know until he told her and that would just give it all away, wouldn’t it?

“Viktor Krum!”

Internally, he wanted to shout for joy and  _ groan _ in agony. He loved a challenge and it was definitely a challenge to feed his intellectual side, but with his parents and Karkaroff in the mix, he’d been wary of it. Now he had to tell his grandmother and Angel that yes he would be the Triwizard champion for Durmstrang and somehow convince himself not to throw it just to spite his High Master. He had ambition, sure, but Igor’s ambition was without reason, without care, and without scruples. There was such a thing as wanting to win and enjoying the competition as well after all. 

He stood and walked towards Dumbledore to stand with the other two champions. A Veela looking girl from France, a handsome boy from England and himself. He winced at the picture they must make even with his classmates cheering for him. He must look like a total fool and when Rita Skeeter appeared he just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, so very sure that at least one mention of “Bulgarian Bon Bon” was going to be made. With the clapping done, they were sent out of the hall as to not hear who the assistants would be. From what Viktor could understand, they were more likes pages and he was sure that whoever was assigned to him, Igor would do their best to either keep them out of it or run them ragged.

“And now for the Triwizard Assistants…” Dumbledore said as the Goblet flashed and the flames turned golden as the first name was thrown out.

“Esmerelda De Luna.”

Beauxbaton clapped as she came down, curtsying and standing to face her classmates. She could have easily been called a Spanish beauty with her dark hair, dark eyes, and full lips. Her smile was kind rather than Fleur's haughty one.

“Milo Georgevich!”

The men of Durmstrang clapped accordingly even as he grumbled about being chosen and moved to stand beside Esmerelda. She offered him a weak smile and he tried to do the same as the final scrap of paper came flying through the air into Albus’s hands.

He opened the paper, “Hermione Granger!”

Silence and the entire Gryffindor section looked to where Hermione had been sitting and wasn’t any longer. He could almost laugh at the fact that she wasn’t there, that girl was as off the beaten path, as far away from any path at all as anyone could be…. Besides perhaps Luna.   

“Hermione Granger!”

“She left just a little while ago, Professor,” Luna said softly.

He could only laugh incredulously. Only Hermione would be absent at a time like this. He told them all that he would enlist a few Gryffindors to go search for her before ushering Esmerelda and Milo towards the room where the Champions waited, greeting one another. 

Viktor let out a bark of laughter and congratulations as Milo came in, grumbling. It was nice to know that someone else was as disgruntled about being chosen as he was. 

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered in Russian. 

Viktor clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”

“Yes, until I get my champion killed or worse--made to wear a frilly skirt.”

Viktor snorted, “Shave your legs, you’ll be fine.”

Milo elbowed him hard earning Viktor’s laugh once more. Esmerelda went over to Fleur, chatting and Cedric seemed to be at a loss until Esmerelda explained. 

“The Granger girl was not there. Dumbledore sent some Griffins to find her.”

Cedric’s eyes lit up, “Hermione Granger?”

She nodded and he let out a breath of relief. There was no way that he’d lose with her on his team. Viktor eyed Cedric’s reaction with interest. 

“Why is he so happy?” Milo asked. 

“Perhaps she is his girlfriend?” Viktor asked with a shrug. “I cannot say.”

“But isn’t there some other thing to sort us?” Milo asked. “There’s no guarantee that they’ll be paired.”

Viktor shrugged, all they could really do was wait and contemplate what they would do going forward.

“Such a lovely bunch!”

He almost groaned hearing the shrill voice of one Rita Skeeter coming in to look them over, her Quick Notes Quill going a mile a minute. 

_ Gods, help me. _

*

Hermione looked between her notes and the cauldron watching the potion bubble and then grow thinner as it brewed. She flicked her wand over it and added a drop of honey for taste before lifting a ladle to her lips and felt it take effect. 

It was perfect. 

No aftertaste, no swirling sensation and it wasn’t like a jolt of caffeine, just an even dose of… steady she guessed. She shrugged, putting a stasis spell over it before grabbing for her bottles and refilling them one by one to store in Poppy’s cabinet. She took one with her for the next morning and grabbed her potions notes before leaving the Infirmary, walking the empty halls towards the library.

“Hermione!”

She looked up to see Harry rushing down the hall. 

“What’s the matter, Harry?”

“Where did you go? We’ve been looking all over the castle for you!”

“I was in the Infirmary, what’s the matter?”

“You were called to be an assistant.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Harry brought her to the room they were meeting in, waiting for her essentially and she walked in looking between the Headmasters and Minerva giving her an amused smile. 

“So nice of you to join us,” Karkaroff sneered.

Hermione looked at him and then to Dumbledore who was possibly the most amused. 

“How you managed to go missing for a full hour and a half is a wonder, Ms. Granger.”

“I was in the Infirmary, Professor. Could you tell me what this is about?”

“Well, Ms. Granger,” Bartemius Crouch began. “You were in the group of seven students that your Headmaster put forth to be an assistant and you were chosen. As it is a binding magical contract, we have been waiting to sort the three of you.”

Hermione looked at him, “You… have got to be joking.”

“Why ever would I joke about this?” he asked confused.

“Because you have a strange sense of humor?” She tried before looking at Minerva. “Professor--”

“I put your name forth,” she said with a smile. 

“Why?” Hermione asked confused even as Cedric seemed to be grinning.

“The Ministry called for the best,” Minerva said. “Thus, we compiled the list of our best and brightest.”

“She is fourth year! If she is best or brightest, you have larger problems than you know,” Madame Maxime argued. 

“This is outrageous,” Karkaroff said.

“Just as outrageous as you putting in the lowest members of your seventh year to be assistants?” Madame Maxime asked Igor. “Am I alone in playing fair?”

“I assure you that Ms. Granger is far greater an asset than you give her credit for,” Minerva said looking up at the tall woman. “She could and would trounce any of your seventh years quite easily.”

She looked down at her feet at Minerva’s tone. She hadn’t realized that Minerva thought so highly of her. Viktor looked at Hermione wondering if that at all could be true. From the way, Cedric seemed to grin, and from what he knew of Cedric, his esteem in “Ms. Granger” meant she was more than likely worthy of that esteem. It wasn't as if Cedric was a slouch by any means.

Hermione sighed and checked her watch raising her hand, “It is a magical contract, regardless of how anyone feels about it. Could we have this done? I have try-outs to run, a team trying to thwart themselves to stop, and several very long chapters to read by tomorrow.”

Viktor’s lips quirked at the way her voice cut through the chaos. Madame Maxime shut her mouth primly, Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled a bit, and Minerva managed to keep her Scottish temper out of it. She considered it a win if only a minor one.

“Very well, if the champions could step forward. The three of you line-up here.”

He gave them each a small token to hold and flipped over a small hourglass.

“If you could all concentrate on the tokens in your hands and repeat after me,  _ Medietates ad Totum _ .”

They did so and no sooner than the words had come out of their mouths, Viktor and Hermione cried out in pain letting their tokens go. They flew towards one another and sealed to form one sphere of gold and swirling red, hovering in the air, morphing into the crest of Durmstrang embossed on the orb in red. 

“Ah, well... That was… unexpected.”

Hermione looked at it opening her hand beneath it so it floated down, now cool to touch and gentle in her hand. Viktor and Hermione looked at one another curiously, taking in each other's features before the time was up and the other four opened their hands. Their tokens were tentatively drawing closer to one another but not fusing together. Cedric and Esmeralda were a pair and Fleur and Milo were the third. Cedric looked a little disappointed, but offered Esmerelda a smile. She looked downright wary and Milo seemed to be wishing he was anywhere but there at the moment.

“I think that about settles it,” he said. “Ms. Granger with Mr. Krum. Ms. de Luna with Mr. Diggory and Mr. Georgevich with Ms. Delacour. If you could all get together with your champion so pictures can be taken, we should be done for the night.”

Viktor looked at Hermione stepping towards him lightly with an apologetic look on her face before turning towards the camera.

“Sit,” he said gently, surprisingly so given his brooding demeanor. He gestured to the chair and she took a seat leaving him to stand beside it, one hand on the back of it, his staff in hand. 

She tried to smile for the picture, but honestly how could she?

*

Karkaroff returned to the ship with Milo and Viktor in tow in more of a state than usual. Viktor went straight to his cabin, undressed for bed and slid beneath the sheets without looking at the schedule Hermione had given him so they could figure out a good time to meet outside of their granted study period.

He wasn't sure what to make of Ms. Granger.

He just hoped that she didn’t take too much offense at Karkaroff’s demeanor. After Bartemius had given her the contract she’d been unwillingly entered into, Viktor had given Karkaroff a warning after he’d just dropped her new uniform at her feet and stormed off. Viktor picked it up, cleaned the clothes with his wand and placed the clothes in her hands. He opened the door for her as she moved to leave and escorted her down the corridor.

“Am sorry for High Master, he is not how do you say… nice?”

Hermione shrugged, looking at the uniform in her arms, “It’s fine. I look forward to working with you, Viktor.”

“I as well. We talk later,” he said after escorting her to her try-outs. “Have good night.”

“Good night, Viktor,” she said, a little startled when he kissed her hand, bowed and left. 

She arrived with more than enough time to stop Marco from convincing the rest of the team that his personal favorite, a cousin or something, was the best of the first years and put an end to the favoritism among the second and third years. In the end, Gryffindor gets one more girl on the team that isn’t Ginny, having been bested by a boy in her year. The girl is a first year who had been more than enthused by making the team and looking up at Hermione like she was superhero.  

“I’ll get better,” Ginny said looking at Hermione. “I’m going to be on the team next year.”

Hermione grinned at her, “That’s the spirit.”

After try-outs, she met with the rest of the team rather briefly about scheduling practice.

“Won’t you be a bit busy?” Marco asked glaring at her. “Miss Assistant?”

Hermione laughed, “I doubt it highly.”

She left them then and headed up to the Gryffindor common rooms only to be met with a room full of students demanding answers about who she was paired with.

“Viktor Krum,” she said. “Now, can I get to my room? I have work to do.”

A letter appeared in front of her and she took it out the air before anyone could think to grab it, tucking it into her robes. 

“I can’t believe you have to help someone from a different school! Let alone get to spend time with Viktor Krum!” Ron said. “You don’t even like Quidditch.”

Hermione shook her head and looked at Harry.

“Are you… not going to be around much?”

Hermione laughed, “Well, I don’t think they’re going to make space for me on the boat, Harry, so I’ll still be here… I’ll just…”She looked towards her bag. “Be wearing something a little different.”

Harry and Ron wasn’t sure what she meant until she came down the stairs the next morning in her Durmstrang uniform. Harry gawked at her. 

“What… is that?”

She looked down, “My new uniform apparently.”

It was simple, a thick brown tunic that fit her closer than she was used to, long sleeves, and a belt with the Durmstrang crest, black leggings and boots. There’s been a long black tie for her hair and a pin on her shoulder marking her as one of the Tri-Wizard assistants. She rather liked the tie once she’d figured out how it worked. It corralled her wild curls into a french braid down her back and though it couldn’t capture every wild curl, it did a lot better than she would have on her own. That made two magical hair pieces, at this rate she’d have a third in another few years.

“I even have a fur coat, a staff,” she said a little amused pulling it from her bag. “And a hat.”

Ron glowered at her, “You look ridiculous.”

She glowered at him and leaned to fasten the wand holster to her thigh. It was a very odd set up if she wasn’t going to wear the coat. The uniform was thermal enough that she didn’t need it. 

“Well Harry, how do I look?”

“Like a Hermione,” Harry replied and she shoved him. 

They walked to the Great Hall and she wasn’t sure what it was but she felt significantly more attention on her. She can’t understand why, but she knows something's up when a very angry looking Esmerelda with her Spanish accent comes walking up behind her.

“How can anyone wear something so…  _ thick? _ ”

She looked at the girl who was more than just put out and raised her wand, “May I?”

She frowned and nodded warily as Hermione flicked her wand to add a comfort charm, one that she used after a summer of wearing the significantly lighter gowns of Greece every summer... Esmerelda blinked. 

“Feels… like silk.”

“And it will actually keep you warm,” she looked down at her kitten heels. “At least you got to keep your shoes.”

She nodded, “Thank you…Granger, right?”

Hermione nodded shaking her hand, “That’s the Hufflepuff table. Don’t worry, they’re really quite nice.”

She nodded, “Good luck.”

Hermione nodded and looked towards the Slytherin table.

“Sestra,” she turned to see Vlad there, grinning at her. “You sit with us, yes?”

“I suppose.”

“Poor Milo,” he said giving a sympathetic look to the now blue-clad, rather gloomy boy sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table. “Is not suited for silk.”

He looked back at her and gave her an appraising look. Strong legs clad in black leading down into knee high boots, laced tight and neat. Her tunic fits far closer than her Hogwarts uniform, revealing a lot more of her form than her rather frumpy Hogwarts uniform. She looked… powerful, dangerous…

_ Gorgeous _ and it made him want to pull the tie free and tangle his fingers in her hair. 

“Suit you well, come, we must talk. Make introductions.”

He bowed slightly waving for her to go ahead of him towards the table before following behind. To announce her to the table, drawing the attention of the table. Her eyes flickered over the group, her heart pounding as they looked at her. Over the years, she’d tried to pick up a few words in Slavic languages, mostly greetings, and simple things, but she got pieces of what he was saying. 

_ Girl, sister… Viktor...care… _

“Hello,” she greeted, “I’m Hermione.”

A loud greeting of cheer welcomed her though it was mostly a terrible butchering of her name, they were warm and friendly, shoving aside to have her sit in the middle of the group.

“I speak English best,” Vlad explained. “I can translate if wish until Viktor come.”

Hermione “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

They talked, grinning at her and looking between one another and that is how Viktor entered the Great Hall, seeing her among his classmates. As he thought, they’d taken to her warmly. 

“ _ They say she is a fourth year, she must be very advanced. _ ”

_ “Of course, because only our devil cheats. _ ”

A laugh went around before someone was serving her food.

“He says, you must eat. Need strength to deal with Karkaroff and Viktor.”

“Is Viktor particularly difficult?”

He frowned for a moment, “No… is not. Very nice like rabbit.”

Pietra called out to him and said something too fast for her to even try to understand before Vlad laughed. 

“He says Viktor will make heads roll if he hears,” he said. “We all know Viktor is more lover than fighter.”

“What words you say?” She looked up to see Viktor towering over them, shoulders hunched and clearly bemused by Vlad’s words. “Is not what you said when we duel last.”

Vlad laughed, “You were lucky.”

Viktor nodded his head and looked at Hermione, “You are alright? They treat well?”

Hermione smiled at him and nodded, “They’ve been lovely.”

He looked at them and said something rather stern to which they gave him rolls of their eyes and clearly sass as they all went up in laughter before launching into a song that made Viktor go red. 

“What are they singing?” Hermione asked laughing a bit.

“Is teasing,” Vlad explained. “Viktor have girl at Hogwarts he writes to, but will tell no one much about her. They make song for laugh.”

Hermione laughed, “I have someone at Durmstrang I write to.”

He blinked and then said something to the table causing them all to look at her and grin before asking questions that she didn’t understand as Viktor took a seat across the table from her. 

“Should not have say,” he said. “They will… pester you forever now.”

“Well… it’s good that I don’t speak… Norwegian?” She asked. 

“You know difference?” Viktor asked. 

“I tried to learn a few things in case my pen pal and I ever met.”

“Hope he is not here, these are fools.”

Someone shoved him hard, as Viktor laughed and Hermione tilted her head. He had an incredibly nice smile, the kind that shifted all the gloom from his face, rearranged it and highlighted his features. He looked at her for a moment, eyes so dark it was hard to look away, but she did, smiling at him and then looking down the line.

“Well, well Granger, it must burn your red and gold pride to have to sit at the Slytherin table.”

She turned her head.

“I see you got your teeth fixed, about bloody time.”

“And you’re still a selfish little git,” Hermione said. “Are you prepared to get trounced for the third year in a row?”

He sneered at her, “As if I would be beaten by  _ you. _ ”

“Again,” Hermione corrected. “I’ve already done it twice.”

He glared at her, “Oh, actually more than that, haven’t I? How is your face by the way?”

“A real wizard wouldn’t ever use their fist, though what can I expect from you?”

Hermione sighed, “A real man wouldn’t have to insult anyone to make themselves feel better.”

Vlad hissed beside her as the rest of the Durmstrang boys laughed. Draco stood up. 

“I wonder how your new school would feel about you if they knew you were just a mudblood.”

Vlad frowned and Viktor looked at Malfoy as she seethed. 

“What is this word?” Vlad asked looking at Hermione. 

“It means dirty blood,” she said. 

“You… are sick?”

“My parents are muggles,” she said and looked at Draco. “Mudblood or not, I leave you in the dust in every subject, Draco. Doesn’t it burn your pureblood pride?”

He flushed a bit in his pale face as she went back to eating, officially done speaking with him.

Viktor looked at her and Vlad pat her shoulder, “Do not worry. Karkaroff is… git, but we not care. Muggle blood not change you--you are witch. A good one to help our Viktor.”

Hermione felt her lips twitch into a smile, “Thanks.”

“Now eat, you need strength, yes? Karkaroff is demon.”

She laughed and continued eating, but sure enough, Karkaroff came down the table before twirling his wand to conjure a stack of books beside her. 

“I expect you to be prepared since I can not get rid of you.”

Hermione looked at the books, pulled her wand out and tapped the stack so they shrunk small enough to fit in her pocket, “I’m sure I’ll get to them.”

She stood up then, finishing breakfast and slinging her bag over her shoulder filled with books. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have class to attend.”

She turned then leaving Karkaroff fuming and the boys grinning. They liked her already.


	12. You’re The Only Thing I Wanna Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Hermione are paired and Hermione gives him a little lesson in evading attention.

They have their first meeting just after lunch, a special study hall for the champions. They’d been given an old classroom that now had the Durmstrang crest on the door and would only allow Durmstrang students, minus Milo, and Hermione. She arrived before Karkaroff or Viktor, took a seat at the table and pulled out the stack of books Karkaroff had given her. It wasn’t a surprise that she’d read them all already. She set them aside and pulled out the large healing tome Poppy had given her to study from. It was a healer’s third year training book and it was proving to be very difficult to get through. Some of the wand work she had a hard time visualizing, but she was making progress as she’d read several anatomy books to help. 

The chapter she was on now was on skull injuries. She pulled out her practice tool, an old human skull and flicked her eyes to the book before tapping it once and letting out a defeated sound. The skull broke, blood ran from the edges and she swallowed, trying to focus. She watched the timer in the skull’s eyes and began to weave the spell just as she was supposed to, gentle strokes to soothe, but sure definite until the skull sealed itself and the blood stopped flowing. The numbers in the skull flashed once and then turned green. She threw up her hands in triumph. 

At that rate, she would at least test out of her second-year head injury--

“You practice healing,” she yelped tumbling herself out of her chair at Viktor’s voice behind her. 

“Am sorry… not mean to scare…” he said softly, offering a hand to help her up. 

“No… I… I wasn’t paying attention.”

She took his hand and let him pull her up, though it felt more like flying, sparks behind her eyelids. He pulled out the chair for her to sit back down and pushed her up to the table gently before taking a seat. 

He rounded the table swiftly, “Is good Karkaroff will be late. Want to talk with you alone first.”

Hermione looked at him.

“I may have name please?”

“It’s Hermione.”

“Hermi-niny…” he huffed, “Am sorry. Not good with English.”

“It’s Greek,” she said with a smile. “And it’s fine. I know it’s a mouthful.”

“Greek?” his eyes lit up. “Speak Greek, could spell?”

Hermione pulled out a sheet of parchment and wrote her name out with her right hand in the greek alphabet. His eyes moved over the letters and shook his head. 

“ _ Hermione _ ,” he said and her stomach flipped. 

No one had ever said her name like that. Hermes always called her “Mia” or “Mikro”, her parents had always said it with their English flare. It definitely didn’t feel like a mouthful when he said it. It felt ancient, powerful, beautiful--

“You speak Greek?” Hermione asked. 

“Da.”

“Einai efkolotero apo o ti anglika?”

“Nai,” he said without thinking and then grinning, his dark eyes lighting up as he looked at her. “ _ You speak Greek! _ ”

She grinned, “I do.”

He laughed incredulously, “It is much easier than English. Is it a bother?”

She shook her head, “Greek is my first language. It’s nice.”

He grinned and offered his hand, “This could be the start of a great relationship.”

Hermione laughed nodding, shaking his hand. He sighed heavily, relieved that he would not have to struggle with his English within the walls that are supposed to make his trials easier. He glanced up at her and wondered if maybe she would--

He chided himself. He was supposed to be being patient, letting her be comfortable with them meeting first. As much as he wanted to ask about other Greek speaking girls at Hogwarts, he'd given his word.

If he was anything, he was a man of his word.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said. “It would be good to know one another since we will be spending so much time together.”

Hermione hummed, “I can quite honestly say I will do my best to support you in your endeavor to win the competition.”

Viktor tilted his head at the very odd reply to his request. their eyes met steadily and he licked his lips feeling another burst of warmth just looking at her. She was bloody beautiful...And he was only a teenage boy with hormones and instincts he didn't even fully understand yet. 

Hera, help him.

“You do not worry how your school will treat you?”

She shrugged, “I'm a bit of a loner, my real friends won't care. It’s not like I’ll be on the boat with you.”

Viktor snorted, “No, I suppose not.”

The door slammed open and Karkaroff walked in glaring at Hermione and the tome she had in front of her. 

“This is not book I give you.”

“I’ve read them all,” she said in easy English, “And I have things to study for.”

He looked at Viktor and began speaking in Russian she was sure. Whatever he was saying was making Viktor rather annoyed, but Hermione didn’t care either way, as she dug out the notes she’d taken on the Tri-Wizard Tournament from years past and the two men’s voice got rougher. Karkaroff got louder and Viktor got softer, darker, edged with the kind of danger she knew to be potent.

“Gentlemen,” she cut in, earning their attention. “I do so hate to interrupt, but we have all of twenty minutes before I’m due for practice.”

Viktor grinned as Karkaroff sputtered and she lay out her notes, giving them a brief rundown of what she figured the contest’s first challenge would be about, what the following challenges would be and the entire Triwizard tournament as a whole could look like based on the few clues they'd been given. When she was done, her skull flashed and chattered. She stood up, tapped it three times and picked her tome off the table. 

“And that concludes today’s session. I’ll leave these for you, Viktor. Until next time.”

Karkaroff grabbed the pages as she marched out of the room and growled, muttering in rude Russian at the notes she’d written. Viktor decided that he rather liked Hermione… especially the way her name felt on his tongue, like liquid heat, cinnamon, and a hint of the richest wine he’d ever had. They stay in the room a little while longer with Karkaroff trying to poke holes in the conclusions she’d made, but it does no good. She had done her homework well, apparently better than even Viktor had done it and that had pissed Karkaroff off to no end. Eventually, it’s time for the first dueling match of the season and they abandon the room in favor of going to watch the match. They go to the Great Hall where the Dueling platforms were set up to see the colors of Slytherin and Hufflepuff overhead. 

A letter appeared in front of him and he grinned opening it excitedly. 

_ I hope you enjoy the match. The first match is always brutal… but the last of the season is always the worst. Slytherin and Gryffindor have a long standing grudge between them. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw usually stay out of it, but since the dueling matches are worth as much as a dueling and Quidditch match combined, it’s going to be ruthless.  _

He worried his lip, casting his eyes around before pulling a quill and an ink container from his bag to write a quick note. 

Hermione turned at Ginny’s voice and joined her on the normal rafters when the note appeared. 

_ Are you dueling? _

She licked her lips.

_ This season, yes. _

He winced at her reply,  _ You fear telling me. _

_ I fear myself. _

The words ring through him, a simple and terribly painful statement that makes his heart ache, but he tucked the letter away and joined the student body as the match began. True to her words, the match was brutal. The Slytherins seemed to be making more a show of dominance than sport. Their hexes were rather nasty, powerful, but horrifying. In the final match, the forward of the Slytherin triple cast a hex that left the Hufflepuff forward screaming in terror, sinking to her knees and horrified. When she dropped her wand, the wards snapped and the enchantment ended. She looked up at the Slytherin standing on the other side with a smirk. 

*

“What kind of hex was that?” Ginny asked. 

“I don’t know Ginny,” she said, but she had to find a way to fight it before they faced Slytherin in the next semester. 

Weeks passed leading to the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match. The Durmstrang students remain on their boat during the match since Igor had no reason to believe that either of those houses had any interesting skill to showcase. Hermione serves as the forward for her triple and they end up winning both of their triples and two singles. Hermione remained undefeated, but they lost the match. Thanks to some clever spellwork, their score was much higher than the Ravenclaw’s score making it more of a tie than a loss.

“I’m sorry,” Odin said after the match, the second year who’d proven himself to be a good duelist. “If I’d won…”

“You did your best,” Hermione said with a smile. “And you’ll get better, just you see.”

Violet Davis, a first year with exceptionally short, straight hair, looked just about ready to explode with excitement as she’d been in Hermione’s heat and had managed to knock a second year Ravenclaw student out of bounds. 

“Girl power!” She cheered, giving Hermione a high five.

“Girl power,” she grinned.

“I don’t want to lose next time,” Odin said.

Hermione grinned, “It’s not about winning or losing, it’s about growing.”

He pouted, “You can say that. You’ve won all of your matches.”

Violet slung an arm around her shoulder, “You were much faster than you were at practice.”

He looked at her, beaming at him, “I bet you’ll be even faster next time. We’ll get help with it cause we’re a team. Right?”

Hermione nodded, “That’s right. We’re keeping that cup in Gryffindor.”

Odin nodded and walked with them back to the tower with the rest of the student, gushing about the match against Ravenclaw. When they get back, Hermione takes a long bath, chatted with Violet about practice and then sent the younger girl off to bed. She ended up in the common room with her healing tome in her lap before Harry showed up. 

“Nice match,” Harry said. “Shame about losing, though.”

Hermione shrugged, “Our points were higher, it was more like a draw.”

Harry nodded, “‘Mione… you think maybe… we could talk?”

Hermione looked at him and set her book aside giving him her undivided attention, “What’s on your mind, Harry? Is everything okay?”

“What do you know about soulmates?”

Hermione tilted her head, “Only what I’ve read...why?”

“Well… I..." He winced looking around before pulling out his wand and putting up a basic anti-eavesdropping ward around them, sliding onto the couch across from her. 

“I’ve been having these… dreams.”

They were more like waking visions he thought about classes he didn’t take, handwriting that wasn’t his in the middle of the day. The sight of three banners of Hogwarts across the Great Hall and Durmstrang students, Hermione, to his right. Though he stepped around the issue, Hermione didn't need him to stop circling his fear before she came to the conclusion.

“Harry,” Hermione said. “Are you saying you’ve been having visions through someone’s eyes in Slytherin?”

“I-I think so. Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s fantastic, it means you’ve probably already met your soulmate.”

“Yeah, but they’re in  _ Slytherin. _ ”

“Your stepfather is Head of the Slytherin House.”

Harry groaned, trust Hermione to be so logical. She reached out and pat his hand. 

“Soulmates aren’t people who care about which house you were sorted into.”

“Mrs. Weasley will be disappointed.”

“Oh Harry, you can’t worry about other people’s disappointment when it comes to your happiness.”

Harry looked at her, “You know… I used to think we would be…”

Hermione smirked, “Perhaps platonically.”

He laughed, “Platonic soulmates, good one. I like it.”

Hermione shrugged. She tried and sometimes she succeeded.

“What about you? Do you have visions?”

Hermione nodded, “Sometimes.”

“Well, don’t hold out on me…” Harry said nudging her. 

“They’re not of the Great Hall,” she said. “I’m not even sure if their visions or dreams or hallucinations...They’re a little too… visceral for any of that from what I’ve read.”

She could feel the heat on her face of the high noon sun, the coolness of water around her, the softness of the gown she wore and his touch… The touch of the man she’d never seen before like a gentle fire on her skin, rushing through her.

“That sounds… rather intense,” Harry said. “Are you sure you haven’t been reading Mrs. Weasley’s romance novels?”

Hermione laughed, “Not that I haven’t read them, but no. These started way before Mrs. Weasley and I came to terms…”

"Wait, what?"

It had been such an odd thing after the argument. Hermione had been in the Burrow’s living room reading a book that Hermes’ favorite neighbor, and best friend, had given her saying that all teenage girls needed a bit of  _ fun _ to read. The author was captivating with good characters and fantastic descriptive details. Though it was fiction, it was more than enough to keep Hermione's mind entertained with imagining the world the woman had built. Molly had come in to see her reading the little paperback and had shrieked with surprise.  Apparently, the notion that Hermione read  _ everything _ was news to her. It was the newest edition of a series that Molly loved, one that she hadn’t had the money to buy between getting everyone’s school things together. Hermione had finished the novel in all of few hours and gave it to her as an olive branch. After that, it had been as if there was never an argument at all.

“How did that happen?”

“A book,” she said and Harry gawked. “She may not agree with my outlook on boys, but she respects my not-so-literary  choices.”

He groaned, “You two read the same romance series?”

“I’m under vow to let her know the second a few series are made available, or I find another author since she is so very out of touch with the publications of the muggle world. It was rather enlightening, perhaps even enough to regain my pseudo-adopted status.”

Harry laughed and they turned as Ron came down the stairs looking between them. 

“Hey Ron,” Harry said. “Come join us?”

“Hate to interrupt,” Ron said stiffly. “You still have your notes from herbology? I’m trying to finish my essay and I can’t find mine.”

“Sure,” Harry said getting up, “Be back ‘Mione.”

Hermione hummed in acknowledgment and went back to reading from her tome, practicing her wand movements for some more complicated healing spells regarding the nervous system. When a letter appeared and fell into her lap, it was attached to a small book which gave her pause.

_ I found this in my trunk and thought of you. I was in a bookstore in Greece before the end of the summer and it came flying off the shelf at me. The bookstore owner said that the book had once had more magic than it does now, but that it faded with time, especially after people began to add translations into modern languages into it and no one really knew what the spell was. He’d been trying to get rid of it but no one seemed to want to buy it or even know it was there. He’d gotten it on a dig in Pompeii quite some time ago and it had been passed around by his colleagues trying to decipher it. The translations are good, but I think you would get more from the originals than I could, you said you’d learned quite a bit about ancient languages. _

_ Have a good night. _

She looked at the book. It was unmarked with a title and she opened it, careful to move the translations and annotations aside. It was rather strange for a wizarding book to be so small, small enough to be held in hand, but so thick. The annotations seemed to span centuries as the words seemed to span even longer. She glanced over the added pages, stuck into the book with various charms and pulled the first set out to set aside and read the Ancient Greek there and flipped towards the front of the book. The text on the first pages was older, much older than Greek and seemed to be a page of Egyptian hieroglyphs, or something older, making it far older than the later pages purported. The pages seemed to be made of papyrus and distinctly different than the later pages though clearly a part of the bound book.

_ I sing my song of Pallas Athena,  _  the translation said but that didn’t match up with what she was reading. She frowned, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill to begin her own set of notations. 

_ I sing to you Neith, defender of the city, goddess,  how you care with Ra in deeds of war, you who watch over me in protection, how I pray my return to your blessed arms, to hear your song once more. I sing to you, my love, grant me your radiance and come home in good fortune and happiness. _

She swallowed, her heart beating fast in her chest as she compared her notes to the annotations of others, through the years. If she was reading it right, they’d called Neith Athena, which made sense with the cults' relationship… but the translations made no note of the tone of the prayer. 

_ No, _ she thought. Not a prayer, a declaration of love and beseeching some higher power that she returned to the speaker. She ran her fingers across the glyphs and to the name specifically. 

_ Neith... _ she’d read about the goddess and how her cult had been imported into Greece. Neith had become Athena over time. Which would have explained the translations, but not the lack of longing. There was praise in the translations, but not the...love that was so clear in the original text.

_ I know you hurry forth so others may live in peace, yet how may I care when they scorn you so? I follow you into battle and though we fight, the days ahead are lost. Your shadow no longer drifts across the ground, your vital spark and personality reunited among the gods. Do you wait for me, my love? Will we see each other again? Or do you watch over me and convince them of our next life? Or is it even that in the afterlife that we are to remain apart? _

“‘Mione?”

She looked up her eyes burning and Harry looked at her as she closed the small book and rubbed at her eyes. 

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No,” she said. “I just… It’s just the writing is so… sad, angry and… I’m not sure.”

Harry looked at her, “You shouldn’t read things like that before bed, ‘Mione, it will only make your dreams bad…”

Sadly, Harry was right. Rather than the warmth of Greece, she felt the heated rain all around her, but not over her skin as she looked over the shoulder of a man sliding a block into place on a pyramid. His face was obscured in shadow, but she felt his pain as he slipped and fell to his knees and the block slid into place, aligning with the rest and lighting up the sigils over the tomb. 

_ Neith of Sais _ , she read and looked down at the man with his olive skin, dark with the sun’s heat, his simple tunic, and dark rain-slick hair, sobbing in the rain before screaming to the heavens. A twist of lightning struck him in the chest, silencing him and leaving him limp on the ground. 

When she woke up, she was crying, tears streaming, her hand pressed to her chest and rocking trying to make the pain ease, but it did not come. She wanted to go to him, to hold him, to see him, this man she’d never met before.

*

Viktor woke up, his heart clenching against the vision. His hands felt rough, bruised by the roughness of the block, his muscles felt tired from straining to press it into place, yet it had only been a dream. 

_ Lady of Athens,  _ the block had said, light from within with the light of dawn.  He got out of bed to change for an early flight. He was earlier than he usually was, but with the way, he felt he knew he wasn’t getting back to bed. The skies were clear and the light of the new day was slowly creeping through the sky. He snuck out of the boat, cast a disillusionment charm and sat on his broom, leaning back on it, one leg relaxed, the other propped on the crossbar and let his mind wander, guiding the broom with his thoughts into the sky above the Black Lake and breathing slowly. If anyone saw him, they’d think him mad for laying on his broom, but contrary to popular belief, he didn’t only fly really fast and do stunts. He actually just enjoyed flying. He felt the letter against his chest and opened it, not entirely sure that she was awake. 

_ I couldn’t get past the first few paragraphs. It’s so sad, Dragonheart. I don’t think my heart can take it. The magic is not so lost as I dreamt it last night. A man pushing a block to finish a tomb in the rain. He was struck by lightning, yet I can still hear him screaming to the sky. He was in so much pain. I don’t think this is a book of poems. I think this is a journal, Dragonheart. A journal of someone who lost their soulmate, I think, but I’m not sure. I’m headed to the library to do a bit of research on the woman the poem is about if I find anything more I’ll let you know if you’d like. _

He frowned and sat up, straddling his broom backward. It wasn’t entirely surprising that she could read the ancient words, but in all the translations that he could read, and the bit of ancient Greek he could read, he’d never read anything about a soulmate or love. He knew the writing spanned several centuries, but he thought it was like the bible, a collection of books written by different authors at different times bound together for some form of cohesion. 

And what the bloody hell was she doing going to the library this late at night? Was it even open?

He sighed, tilting his broom down and turning himself around to push his body up, holding his body parallel to the broom with just his arms in mid-air until he could place the top of his boots on the bottom of the crossbars and hang, keeping his body aloft with only the strength of his ankles and calves. He let his arms fall below him and closed his eyes, the letter in his hand and breathed. 

Since he was a child, hanging upside down, completely upside down, had calmed him. His grandmother said it was something that his grandfather would do, something passed down through the ages potentially. His brothers teased that Viktor was actually the spawn of a bat. They'd shut up sometime around the time Viktor started casting hexes. Sometimes, hanging by just his legs, was enough but with the Triwizard first task looming ahead and still no idea of what it could be beyond speculation, he needed the calm of complete suspension.

The dream and being so near to Biblio-logical hadn’t helped either. He had been excited the first year they exchanged letters, but as their letters got to be more personal, more intimate, something had changed culminating in the deep set fear he had now.

What if he wasn’t what she was expecting?

He shook his head again, clearing the thoughts and just listening to the wind until he felt the familiar feeling of weightlessness, like everything that had been bearing down on his shoulders slid off of him and fell to the earth below him. 

Behind his eyes, he saw the bright sun and sky above Greece as he flew through the air effortlessly and without a broom, winged sandals on his feet. He opened them shaking his head and peering through the darkness of the night.

He heard something like a screech cut off mid-way in the distance and turned his head, opening his eyes as a flash of light appeared in the night. He frowned, taking hold of his broomstick and guiding it towards where he’d seen it. He dove down a bit to get a better look, maneuvering so he was upside down as his broom lowered him down to just above the treeline.

A burst of fire came flying out of a cage and a low growl could be heard. Hagrid began to coo and approach the cage as several others maneuvered around it to set up fireproof wards. Madame Maxime remained a bit farther back. A low hiss and the slithering sound of scales and wings filled his ears.

_ Dragons? _ He gawked. 

The first challenge involved dragons? Hermione had been right, he grinned at the thought of Karkaroff’s reaction. 

*

“You are sure of this Viktor?” Karkaroff asked after the door closed behind him. 

“Yes,” he said. “I saw them while flying.”

“When were you flying?” Karkaroff asked, his eyes narrowed. 

“None of your business.”

Karkaroff opened his mouth, but the door opened with Hermione in her Durmstrang uniform, carrying a different book today, one on the nervous system. As usual, she had her face in it, her attention on the pages and read to the end of the page before sitting down. 

“Hermione,” Viktor began and Karkaroff hissed.

“She does not need to know!”

Hermione looked up with a hum and a smile at the tingling she felt the way he said her name.

“Yes?” Hermione asked. “You’ve figured something out, I’m guessing.”

“Dragons,” Viktor said in Greek, a warm balm over her half-fried nerves. “The first challenge involves dragons like you thought.”

She hummed, “Well, at least that’s out of the way. Any particular type of dragon?”

“I’m not sure.”

Hermione hummed and Karkaroff shut his mouth before looking at Viktor, “ _ You’ll have to kill it. _ ”

Whenever Karkaroff began speaking in Russian, Hermione knew was in a certain kind of mood and trying to convince Viktor to do something that was probably a bad idea. Since the man only spoke in Russian around her, she just assumed that he was  _ always _ trying to get Viktor to do something he didn’t want to do and wasn’t a very good idea. She could see why Dragonheart and the rest of Durmstrang called him a demon. The man had a very limited view of how to obtain victory and by the look on Viktor’s face, he wasn’t exactly interested in following through with what he planned. He looked at her. 

“Hermione,” he started with a lick of his lips that, for a moment, was entirely too distracting to be real. 

He seemed to be standing taller, his full height perhaps, as he regarded her. 

“What do you think?”

Hermione hummed, trying to cover the tremble in her voice at the sound of his Greek over her senses. For the love of the Pantheon and Merlin, his voice was getting more distracting by the day. Deeper than any boy in her year and he spoke Greek like he’d lived there all his life. She could listen to him speak Greek for hours. It didn’t help that he had the sort of strong features she always favored. He was still in his teens, not quite filled out all the way but his form now hinted to what he would become: tall, dark, broad, handsome with a bit of exotic appeal because of his accent--his rather talented tongue.

She felt her heart flip.

Perhaps she should lay off the romance novels for a little bit, she didn’t have time to deal with passions or intrigue or  _ men _ in general with how packed her schedule was, and Viktor had proved himself to be a man more than anything. 

“Well, you’re obviously aren’t meant to kill the dragon. Killing dragons for sport has never been legal in Britain and even if it was an accident would be  _ highly _ frowned upon. They wouldn’t bring dragons all the way here to go back without them. You probably have to get past them somehow, steal something from them, that sort of thing.”

Viktor considered it before looking at Karkaroff and replying to him in Russian. Karkaroff glared at her before coming back with a response for Viktor. While they argued, she grabbed her book on magical creatures and flipped to the rather extensive dragon section. She pulled out a piece of parchment. Large with wings, endangered perhaps… They weren’t going to risk the dragon getting loose and hurting people, or revealing anything to the wizarding world so it would have to be in a controlled environment-- leaving the Forest out and the Quidditch pitch as not fortified enough to contain a dragon, but definitely large enough.

_ The first task is designed to test your daring; courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard,  _ Bartemius Crouch said.

“Which means you can’t fly.”

They looked up from their argument to see that she’d moved to the blackboard, a diagram on the board. Karkaroff’s eyes narrowed and Viktor rounded the table. She wasn’t paying them any attention, drawing and writing on the board with her right hand, her left hand holding her book aloft. 

“What is meaning?” Viktor asked in English as Karkaroff remained on the other side of the room. 

She directed him around her notes in Greek, starting with Bartemius’s hint. 

“Daring means risk, courage means bravery, the face of the unknown means you have to think on your feet-- all of that together means you have to be elegant, methodical, and do something that no one is expecting. More importantly, the dragon will be restrained to the area in some way and thus flying for you would be practically useless.”

Viktor winced looking at the diagram of what she was thinking was probably the case. A large enough stadium, more than likely somewhere on the grounds far enough away from the castle in case of an accident, the Quidditch pitch was the obvious guess. Champions would enter through one side, the dragon would be somewhere else and whatever they were supposed to guard or get would be behind them well within their range of motion. 

“Dragons are odd in their instincts. Dragon males protect treasure even without training, there’s a reason dragon-horde is such a thing. Dragon females however only protect eggs, their young, and themselves.”

“Is very unbalanced,” he said with a grimace. Hermione shrugged. 

“For what I can surmise from the history, whatever you’re supposed to get is going to be the clue to the next task.”

Viktor shook his head, he’d surmised as much from the reading he’d done on the tournament years ago.

“Dragon males are generally known to sleep on the job however and rather lounge in the wealth,” she said wryly. 

Some species of male dragons were completely unable to breathe fire and didn’t have the temperament to really test much courage. They needed a guaranteed show of ferocity. If there were dragon tamers around to keep them tame enough as Viktor said, it was likely that these were female dragons and probably nesting females at that, meaning the clue would be eggs. 

“What are you thinking?” Viktor asked. “Eggs?”

She smiled, “You read my mind.”

*

Karkaroff stood back watching the two of them as they conversed in calm Greek. Viktor took the chalk and drew a box around the word “Eggs” on the board, “Female” and then flipped the board over to render the arena she drew again with the new elements with an aerial display. He caught the word “Quidditch” and Viktor laughed, shaking his head. 

He wanted to strangle the little mudblood girl.

*

“It helps me think to see it from above,” Viktor said. “What do you know about dragon nests?”

Hermione hummed and rattled off some information. They were usually in mountains, depending on the dragon, but there was no way they could simulate the height of a mountain. 

“Land, close to the ground?” Viktor wrote, drawing an eye-level view of the arena next to the aerial. 

“Elevated slightly,” she said, “On rock so the fire can be blown and kept hot. Dragon eggs aren’t exactly fragile, they’ll usually keep them warm with their bodies or fire.”

Karkaroff came up behind them peering around Viktor’s shoulder as the seemed to argue about the approach, an arc drawn from the ground to the nest. Conjunctivitis written on the board under “possibilities”. She shook her head. 

“And hearing? What if you get an already blind dragon? Or one that has no need to move from its nest? Or an impervious dragon?”

He sighed, “There are such things?”

Hermione flipped and handed him the book. He sighed, taking a seat, “Dragons in Bulgaria are not so complicated.”

Hermione laughed, “Is that so?”

Viktor shook his head, reading before worrying his lip, “What will I do if I cannot fly? I’m not graceful on the ground.”

Hermione regarded him, “I think I have an idea for that.”

*

Karkaroff grit his teeth, sitting at the table with the other Head Masters and staff members. He occupied the time in between vicious bites with glaring down the Slytherin table where Hermione sat with the boys of Durmstrang laughing at something before bidding them goodbye and heading out with Viktor. They shared a high five before parting. They were set to begin what Hermione called training the next morning and after being sure that the original training regiment, Quidditch, and strength would not be interrupted, Karkaroff allowed it. 

“How goes things with Ms. Granger?” Albus asked from beside him. 

“She is adequate.”

Minerva gave a smile over the rim of her goblet. It would be in just a few days that they would see just how adequate of a team they were. 

In the morning, Viktor meets her by the Black Lake, dressed for a workout. She’s dressed warmly in muggle athletic wear and covered in warming charms. 

“A run and then we’ll start?”

“You are sure you can keep up?” Viktor asked. “I’m not graceful, but I am fast.”

Hermione grinned, “I think it’s you who have to worry about keeping up.”

Viktor took it as a challenge and rather than the usual run he took around the grounds, he found himself racing her on his normal route, pushing himself to run faster, but she had an agility on land that he couldn’t match, running over all terrain evenly, leaping over rocks and obstacles where they would have tripped him until they reached a secluded spot, panting.

“Okay… you win.”

Hermione laughed, “Don’t feel bad, I can’t fly at all.”

“How?” he asked. “How is the possible?”

She shrugged, “Guess I can’t be good at everything.”

He glowered at her, “I will teach you to fly. I cannot have a partner who cannot fly. Would be dishonorable not to share my knowledge with you.”

“I already have an offer and turned it down, thank you.”

Viktor snorted, “Others are bad teachers, trust me.”

Hermione laughed and drew her wand, “This is a modification to the silencing and disillusionment spell.”

Viktor watched her, looking at her wand with interest. Vine for sure, not at all like his slightly curved wand. 

“Heartstring?” Viktor asked. 

“Yes,” she said, “How did you know?”

“I wondered why we were so compatible.”

Hermione shrugged and showed him the wand movement, similar to the disillusionment charm, around in a circle with a gossamer thin rope of white light. For a moment she was there and then his attention was directed elsewhere. She walked around him and observed him. He frowned looking around, looked right past her several times. 

“Where did you go?”

She tapped her own head and watched him look at her directly. 

“You… were not standing there a moment ago.”

“Oh, but I was. I got the idea after a show. I’m calling it 'Perception'."*

He blinked, “How does it work?”

“Rather than making you invisible, it makes you unnoticeable to sight and mutes everything around you. I could kick a rock, walk on gravel and generally stomp around, but you wouldn’t hear it. I made it so it was a step down from disillusionment and perfect for certain sorts of attention avoidance. It’s non-verbal, though.”

“Right,” he said. “Alright, let’s try.”

“ _ Sigisoun aorato, _ ” she said, “Hold the words in your mind and focus on your heartbeat.”

He swallowed feeling the words in his mouth and letting them fill his mind alongside the sound of his heartbeat. 

The first time he felt it settle over him in pieces, fractured he thought and watched her. He stepped and heard his foot on the grass, but Hermione seemed to focus on the direction of the sound, rather than looking at him. 

“Good first try, you just need to tweak your movement.”

He winced and tapped his head and felt it break under the undoing spell. They practiced for another hour before calling it a day and heading inside for bathing and breakfast. 

“Rather delicate spell,” he said. He wasn’t good with delicate. “Why not disillusionment?”

“Some dragons only see heat. Disillusionment makes you invisible not unnoticeable.”

“Very delicate.”

“Of course, it’s supposed to be a gentle deflection of attention. Just enough to give you an edge of an advantage. With attention deflected from you, you can distract it with something else, get it away from the nest, get the egg and get out.”

Viktor shook his head, he liked the part about getting out the best. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * If you didn't get the reference... It's the Doctor. :)
> 
> I am also sorry about the brief bit of Greek. I used Google Translate and really needed it to set the stage for them always speaking Greek to one another.


	13. See The World You Brought To Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione trains Viktor part two and why do people try to test Hermione?

By the time, the day of the competition arrived, he still couldn’t manage to get it together. Hermione finds him pacing the tent when she comes after lunch, wearing his uniform and so very worried, practicing the motion and Hermione waltzed in and took a seat watching him under the perception filter. She tapped her head sometime after the third frustrated curse. 

“Viktor.”

He yelped and turned, “Ot bog!”

She smiled, “Sorry. Take a seat, yeah?”

He sighed and took a seat beside her. 

“I am… nervous.”

“I noticed.”

“I haven’t been able to get it to work.”

“You will, and if not you have a backup plan.”

Viktor shook his head and she placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Here,” she said offering him a token on a leather chain. It was the orb their tokens had created. “For luck.”

“Did you dip it in a potion?”

“No!” Hermione said nudging him, “I would never cheat. I just hear that it’s tradition to give the champion a token of luck. You’ll be fine.”

“Now, what’s the plan?”

Plan one was to use the perception spell, and illusions to draw the dragon away from the nest and let him get close enough to not get singed. He’d have to cast the perception filter on the egg once he lifted it out as well. 

The backup involved strengthening charms and an acceleration charm to make him fast enough to swipe the egg while the dragon was blinded and get out. 

“And?” Hermione pressed. 

“The shield charm over the eggs,” he added with a sigh leaning back. “You think dragon will be angry enough?”

“It is a great possibility, and in either case, you should shield yourself and use that scent-blinding hex instead of conjunctivitis.”

Viktor nodded and soon the rest of the champions arrived and she was ushered out along with the rest of the assistants to sit in the reserved box for them and the staff advisors.

“Hello Ms. Granger,” she said. “I hope things have been going well.”

She looked back at Minerva and nodded, “Going well.”

Milo nudged her, “Viktor is okay?”

She grinned, “He’ll be fine. How about Fleur?”

Milo winced, “Am not sure… hard to understand her, arrogant, but have plan should work.”

Hermione nodded. Esmerelda had much of the same to say and a plea for Hermione to give her the charm that made her clothes so comfortable. 

“I fear I may scratch myself, but it is so irritating.”

Hermione smiled, flicking her wand in Esmerelda’s direction before producing a scrap of parchment with directions. 

“It should last through a few washes, but if not...You can owl me if you need more information.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I did not know the English could be so nice.”

Hermione laughed as the competition began. Cedric was first. While it was a marvelous strategy, and the transfiguration was amazing, he hadn’t accounted for the possibility of the Swedish Short-Snout’s level of intelligence. They were known to suss out threats to their nests faster than any other breed and disregard that which was not a threat. She only hoped that Madame Pomfrey could repair the damage done to his face. 

Esmerelda winced, “We did not think of that.”

“He got the egg,” Milo said.

And with a score of fifty out of sixty points, he didn’t do too badly. Fleur stepped out against the Common Welsh Green. A gentle sequence of wand movements and the dragon fell sleeping away from its nest, having advanced to look at Fleur. 

She went to get the egg, strolling almost which made Hermione laugh as the dragon breathed a burst of fire and caught the end of her skirt causing her to scream in pain and try to put it out before shuffling back to the tent. 

“Arrogant girl,” Milo said with a nod of his head. “Told her to hurry.”

Hermione laughed, feeling rather relieved that all the dragons so far had been rather tame. They announced the Chinese Fireball and before Hermione could breathe easy they made another announcement. 

“ _Attention,_ _due to an unexpected change of events, the last champion’s dragon must be substituted._ ”

Hermione paled sitting forward as Karkaroff grit his teeth. 

When the dragon appeared, she felt her stomach drop and her brown hands clenched the guard rail with terror.

“ _ The Hungarian Horntail… _ ” she gasped. “ _ How is that a fair replacement!? _ ”

Milo winced, “Viktor… will not be okay?”

Hermione licked her lips. She’d prepared him for this, she thought, going over their conversations quickly. Horntails were particularly impervious to certain kind of curses because of the anatomy and the thickness of their skin. She pulled a slip of paper out and scribbled furiously, before folding it and charming it to fly to Viktor. Viktor felt his breath quicken before the note came flying in and someone pat his shoulder in sympathy. Viktor opened the note. 

_ Scent Charm no good. Use Shield, Strength, Deflect, Perception, Calm. _

Except he wasn’t even sure if his  _ perception _ would work and what did calm mean? He tucked the note in his robes and prepared himself before stepping out and waiting until the dragon was unblindfolded and could look at him. 

He held his wand aloft and swallowed, scanning the field and the glint of gold among the cement colored eggs caught his eye, the arena was flat, a few boulders, but otherwise bare. 

He cast the first sequence of spells to shield himself, then the illusion spell to create shadow copies of himself, auditory hallucinations and waited until the dragon shuffled forward, mouth open in rage and glowing hot before conjuring the fire shield in front of his illusion, just long enough to try his hand at the perception filter. 

Hermione held her breath and watched him prepare for it. The shield was perfect, just like they practiced. She watched his wrist, his form and suddenly he became perfectly unnoticeable and she lifted her hands in triumph. 

Viktor felt it, waiting for the moment, before testing it. The flame stopped and he waited as it prowled forward. He sent the illusions running to the left and stood still. The dragon followed them as he took off running in the opposite direction. It blew fire at the illusions as he tapped his legs for a bit of speed. He ran forward, rounding the nest to climb in and grab the egg and he felt the dragon’s eyes on him as it came back seeing the floating egg and effectively breaking the charm. It roared and screeched charging towards him as he got out of the nest and shot a protection charm just as it crawled over the nest, forcing a shield wall between its back leg and the eggs it was going to smash. He could almost hear Hermione laughing at him and winced. He owed her chocolate per their bet. Now he had to make it to the other side of the stadium. 

Fire rushed towards him and his wand whipped out, deflecting the wall of heat away from him, a bit of a distraction as he rolled behind the boulder. The dragon prowled forward towards where he was standing, though it could not technically see him from around the boulder, he didn’t have much time before the silencing part of the spell wore off. It was ready to breathe fire again, knowing he’d gone in this direction, probably hearing his heart pounding against his ribcage.

_ Calm... _ he frowned a let out an incredulous breath as it prowled forward and he lifted his wand making slow, gentle movements like ocean waves. If it failed, at least he had a backup. He trusted Hermione oddly enough.

_ Pacem,  _ he thought, moving his wand back and forth soft large pulses of golden light drifted over the dragon, like waves crashing on the shore. 

Hermione held her breath watching the waves flow through the air, growing steadily larger and settling over the Horntail that seemed to be dazed for a moment, closing its mouth. She grinned slowly watching him. While the spell was meant for people and creatures no bigger than a centaur, enough concentration and the strength of a dragon heartstring core wand was more than enough to make it  effective but not intrusive.

It seemed to relax as Viktor kept the motion up and walked towards the other side of the stadium, golden egg in his hand and slowly easing the dragon back to its nest even as the silencing began to wear off, he walked as fast as possible towards where he’d entered. The dragon crawled back into its nest, blowing fire on its eggs as Viktor began to hear his footsteps and walked backward out of the arena. When he was safely beyond the entry point, the stadium went up in cheers, the voices of Durmstrang roaring through the arena and Viktor walked backward, still shell-shocked from the entire experience before he suddenly had an arm full of Hermione, speaking quick, happy Greek. He dropped the egg, laughing and spinning her around as she squeezed him tightly.

Viktor laughed, spinning her around, “You amazing girl! How did you know that would work?”

Hermione chuckled pulling back, “Wand Theory.”

“What?” Viktor asked looking at her incredulous.

She’d read a book on wand theory because she wanted to understand how her wand would react with certain spells. She’d even talked to Ollivander at length about it. As a rule, dragon heartstrings produced wands with the most power and they tended to learn more quickly than other types. They were a bit temperamental because of the power and the residual dragon magic, but being chosen by a dragon core wand was basically like marking you as a having a spiritual kinship with them. 

“A dragon heart, if you will,” she said. “Or soul, at the least the dragon core respects you.”

The Pacem spell actually dated back to the Giant Wars. It didn’t work for most the way it was intended to work, but considering Viktor’s strength, the strength of his wand, and the Horntail’s nervous system, it shouldn’t have been a problem if he could keep it up. Hungarian Horntails felt the smallest vibrations because of their exoskeleton. That’s what made them such great flyers, being able to feel the wind currents and being so aerodynamic. Pacem was a powerful but gentle spell like wind’s breeze that would soothe not only the mind but the body of the dragon as well.

“So of course it worked,” she said.

Viktor chuckled at her, not understanding half of the theory she just laid at his feet but pulling her into a tighter hug and lifting her from the ground causing her to hug him back and shriek in surprise.

“I owe you so much chocolate,” he said spinning her around and making her laugh before they heard the sound of a photograph being taken. He set her down and they looked to see Rita Skeeter there with her quick notes quill looking as smug as ever as Viktor’s expression went from happy to annoyed.

“Ah, young love.”

*

Viktor sat on his bed, scratching through lines in his parchment. 

_ I dream of touching you, your hand in mine _

_ I dream _

_ I speak _

_ I-- _

He huffed setting it aside before looking at the two-sided letter he’d finished reading from her. Wishing him well, telling him what she’d figured out, a theory about the journal. So far, she’d surmised that the journal did have magical properties and was under some sort of enchantment. Beyond that, it wasn’t written by one hand, but by two very distinct voices that persisted through the ages on the pages. She guessed it may have once been a means to communicate maybe between two soulmates who were always apart. It was horribly sad and as he sat trying to get the words out that seemed to be slipping through his fingers his vision misted over. 

In his hands wasn’t free parchment but a journal opened to a blank page, an ink-dipped quill in his hand and he wrote:

_ I sing of you, my Athena, defender of the city who with me attended to matters of state and war. Who I cannot hold in daylight, but by night wrap in arms of love.  _

_ My Athena… _

_ My love…  _

_ My soul and heart… _

_ Forgive me for I can not return to you in this life. Perhaps in the next, I will find a way to repay this life’s cruelties in sweetness. Yet, I know you will march ahead, cut through our enemies and we will be together in the next life as we could not be in this one.  _

_ Until our next meeting, my love. _

_ Hephaestus of Athens _

*

Tonight, she’s hoping for an easy practice, but. of course, it can never be that simple as the dueling room had apparently been double booked between them and the Hufflepuffs. 

“Aren’t you enough of a traitor?” one of the girls asked. “Shouldn’t you be helping the enemy?”

Hermione groaned since when were Hufflepuff girls so  _ mean _ ? The door opened, a few members of the Slytherin team-leading Igor and a few Durmstrang boys inside. 

“Oh look, the Gryffins and the ‘Puffs.”

“Let’s just find somewhere else--”

“We booked the room first,” Marco started and she could have  _ killed _ him for it. Why did Henry have to be sick today of all days? If he was here, then she wouldn't have to be the sole voice of reason.

“Liar!”

Hermione held up her hands, “We are going to duel in February do we really need to fight now?”

“I say we duel for it,” Penelope Wright said glaring at her.

Hermione groaned as she made mention of everyone’s favorite phrase as of the end of November: Traitor Granger.

“This should be interesting,” A Slytherin said leading the group towards a space to spectate. Viktor winced looking at Hermione who looked more annoyed than ready to fight. 

“Are you going to let her talk to you like that, Granger?” Marco asked. “A Hufflepuff?”

“What about it at least we’re loyal! She wouldn’t know what loyal meant if it pulled her stupid frizzy hair.”

Hermione sighed, rubbing at her eyes, she was due for another potion perhaps or maybe she was just metabolizing it faster now. Either way, she felt the edges of a rather mean mania coming on. One that would potentially put Penelope out of the running for the next match, if she kept talking. 

It was rather funny the way the other Hermione was sometimes. Impulsive, over-active, and almost unforgiving, when she was angry, she’d rain down fire and scorch the world if this Hermione let her. At the moment, she was considering not stopping her.

“There are other places to practice.”

“Scared I’ll wipe the floor with you?” She challenged. “Let’s face it, Granger, you’re not that special. You have a weird stance and you’re quick on the draw, but that’s about it.”

Hermione looked at Penelope and then to the team captain, “I liked Ivory better.”

Penelope took off her cloak, “Come on then unless your little muggle-born sensibilities can’t handle a real challenge.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Ten sickles on Wright,” someone from Hufflepuff said. 

“Come on Granger you can’t back out now,” Marco said.

“I didn’t start this,” Hermione said. “And we’ll be dueling them in less than a few months! Can we not put our egos aside until then?”

“Well, I guess you can just forfeit,” Penelope said. “Wonder what Viktor will think of you when you do?”

_ This... _ she quieted the voice that was pushing at her teeth and settled for changing her stance. Viktor tilted his head officially interested. Hermione always had a rather neutral stance, shoulders back, good posture, but this… This was something like attitude and sensuality, a hand on her hip, a slight to her posture and the beginnings of a rather wicked smirk on her lips. 

She looked downright dangerous and Viktor quite liked this version of Hermione.

“I’m pretty sure he’ll think the same thing he thought  _ before _ ,” she said wryly. “And you haven’t issued a challenge, you’re just talking.”

She took off her dueling glove and threw it at Hermione, hitting her square in the chest. Hermione’s eyes narrowed a bit, she licked her lips and raised an eyebrow with the tilt of her head. 

Something in him told him he should save the stupid Hufflepuff girl from herself, but he couldn’t seem to look away from this new side to Hermione, who was always so very polite and neutral, even when she was putting Igor in his place.

“Let’s go Granger so everyone can see exactly how incredibly unremarkable you are,” she said. “ _ Traitor. _ ”

Hermione let out a sigh regarding the glove on the ground. It seemed like that was the general consensus around the school that she was a traitor for helping Viktor win, for not betraying the magical contract she’d been forced into and helping Cedric, even though they didn’t know one another really.

She’d placed her right hand on her hip to keep her from grabbing her wand and blasting Penelope until she cried. The other Hermione had a rather vindictive side. When given the choice, she wasn’t exactly all books, energy, and smiles.

“Hermione’s right,” Violet said. “There are other places to practice.”

“Stay out of this you little runt.”

Hermione stepped in front of her as Penelope glared at Violet. There went all hope of not getting involved with this. If manic Hermione was energy and violent tendencies, then this Hermione was the cold, calculating rage, the kind of vengeance that no one truly wanted.

“You don’t talk to her like that.”

“Afraid that your little fan will find out exactly how pathetic you are and start looking up to a real witch?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, gripping her hand. 

“A  _ real _ witch worthy of being here. You’re nothing but a pathetic muggle born who thinks she has talent. I come from a long line of accomplished duelists. Your parents probably don't even know what dueling is. I bet you’re sleeping with your whole team.”

Violet’s eyes widened and the entirety of Durmstrang took in a breath. Hermione’s shoulders squared.

“Assuming that anyone would give you the time of day,” Penelope said looking at Violet with a disgusted shake of her head. “You shouldn’t look up to girls like her. Traitor, whore-- I wouldn’t be surprised if she was even--”

“Enough,” Hermione said, waving her left hand so the glove floated up into her hand, shocking some of the Durmstrang students. It was rare to perform even small acts of wandless, wordless magic at her age. She tossed it back to Penelope and walked up the few steps onto the dueling strip. 

“Officiator,” she ordered as she pulled her wand out with her left hand. “Rules.”

Violet winced coming up to the edge of the strip, “Hermione? Are you sure?”

“You don’t talk to Violet like that,” Hermione said. “At her, in front of her or any of my team members. You want a lesson in respect? I’ll give you one.”

Violet glared at Marco, “This is is all your fault!”

Marco rolled his eyes, “It’s just a duel.”

“Not when she uses her left hand!”

Marco paled looking up at Hermione who was, in fact, holding her wand in her left hand. They called it her Ace hand, her secret weapon that she had never really used in a dueling match. 

“Erm, Hermione? Ace?” Anthony asked. “Perhaps we should just calm down?”

Hermione turned her head slowly to him and he jumped back at her expression, “Right… well...I’m gonna go… find Henry maybe?”

He left, running out the room.

“Officiator,” Hermione repeated. “Rules.”

Marco stepped up and began the normal spiel about the dueling rules. The Durmstrang boys chatted between them and Viktor took her in standing straight, it would be interesting to see her duel. 

“Do you comply?” Marco asked. 

“Yes,” the two girls answered walking towards the center of the dueling strip. Hermione in her Durmstrang uniform, Penelope in her Hogwarts uniform. Hermione curtsied though Penelope didn’t give her the same courtesy. She raised her wand arm and Hermione raised her wand in her left hand before lowering it and walking to her end of the dueling strip. 

When she took her stance, Viktor’s heart stopped and the world shifted to the heat of a desert, humid by the sea. That stance…

“She does not duel like English,” someone whispered. “I’ve never seen that style before.”

Viktor had, like a memory from a lifetime past but he couldn’t put his finger on the why it seemed familiar. 

“On your mark--”

“Flipendo!” Penelope cried out earning Hermione’s swift movement around the blast and follow-through with a blast of her own sending the girl flying back and cracking the window before she fell into a heap on the ground. 

Hermione slid her wand into her holster, curtsied and walked off the dueling strip. 

“There are other places to practice,” Hermione said looking at Marco meaningfully before walking to where Penelope lay in a heap. 

She waved her hand over the girl in a thick blue blanket of light.

“Levitate her to the Infirmary, she should be fine by morning.”

“She is fast,” Viktor said watching her give one of her team members a meaningful look before leading the short procession out of the door. 

“And angry,” someone said. “I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of her wand.”

Viktor shook his head. Neither would he. He also hoped, beyond hope that Penelope was not the girl he’d been writing to. 

After her practice was over, she walked to the library to find Viktor sitting at one of the tables alone and a gaggle of giggling girls peering from behind a bookcase at him. 

“You’re angry,” he said in Greek, looking up at her. “The room got several degrees hotter when you got near.”

“Hah, hah,” she snarked and took a seat. “Very funny.”

“I am a genius,” he said easily as she grabbed a book and opened it. 

“How far along are you?” She asked. “Anything?”

He shrugged, “Theories maybe. I do not want to hear the screeching again.”

“That’s fair.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said looking across the table at her.

“For what?”

“Being loyal.”

She blinked and laughed, “Here I was hoping that you were only pretending to pay attention.”

“All of Durmstrang is grateful.”

“Even Karkaroff?”

“He is the High Master, not Durmstrang.”

Hermione nodded, “Thanks… You have those lists?”

Viktor nodded sliding the pages across the table, “I’m on it, champ.”

Viktor snorted and watched her wander off to find the books on the list. He watched her for a moment, curious as she wandered through the shelves. At least she was making them levitate in a stack after her rather than lugging them around. It had taken a great deal of arguing to get her to do that much. She was such a wonder sometimes. 

“ _ Mila, _ ” he called out seeing her begin to stack books in her arms. “Ne.”

She huffed at him and set them on the growing stack, sticking her tongue out at him and continuing down the sections. He laughed before looking back to his notes on the egg and licking his lips. His eyes flickered up to see her reaching high over her head for a book and he stood up and went to her and grabbed the book off the shelf. 

“One day, you will hurt yourself.” He said eyeing the stack. “And I am pretty sure there were only six books on the list.”

“I… got distracted,” she said. “And they’re all relevant!”

Viktor lifted an eyebrow at her and set the book on top of the tall stack, stepping forward to crowd her back against a row of books. Her eyes are so open, staring up at him and confused, probably shaking at their proximity and nervous. It makes him want to--

“These are enough, for now,  _ mila, _ ” he said affectionately. “We will have to sleep tonight after all.”

He turned then, backing away from her before he gave himself away and trying to push these rather confused feelings away. Hermione was at the very least inexperienced, but the way she’d reacted to him crowding into her space had been enough to tell him that it wasn’t because there was no interest. Never mind that he was having these dreams that clearly meant something and the crushing ache at the thought that Biblio-logical, this voice from the void whom he may never meet and knew more about him than many, was probably not his soulmate. 

“Viktor,” she said drawing him out his thoughts as the books separated themselves between the two of them. 

“Da?” He asked and her lips twitched. 

“You… know pretty much everyone on your school’s Quidditch team don’t you?”She asked tentatively. 

“Da,” he said. “You have a question?”

“Well… it isn’t one I can really ask but… Well I’ve been writing to one of them,” she said worrying her lip, trying not to give too much away, because how much more embarrassing would that be? “Are they all… rather nice in person?”

“Da,” he said with a shake of his head. “They are foolish sometimes, but they are good men, like brothers.”

She let out a breath and nodded, “That’s good to know.”

“You have not met the one you write to?”

She shook her head, “I’m… rather nervous.”

“Why?”

She shook her head, “It’s… silly sort of. I’m just… I wonder if perhaps I’m not what he’s expecting maybe? We’ve been writing to one another for years and I feel like I know him, but the person I am on the page doesn’t exactly match up with who I am.”

Viktor hummed, “I don’t think that’s true. Unless you have told him several rather large lies.”

She glowered at him, “I would never.”

“You are worried that he envisions someone who does not look like you?’

She nodded quietly and sighed. 

“I have no words of comfort,” Viktor said. “I… have a girl I write to, a woman here at Hogwarts who is frightened to meet me in person and I am honestly frightened as well.”

“Why?”

“Words on a page are far more honest in some ways, but they are not the complete truth. I don’t think I could… handle if she were to reject me in person.”

Hermione’s lips twitched, “Sounds like we’ve got more in common than our wand cores.”

He chuckled, “Da.”

“Could you teach me Bulgarian?” She asked. “I’ve… read a bit, I know words but I don’t know how to pronounce them.”

Viktor smirked, “He’s from Bulgaria?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Keep it to yourself.”

“On my honor,” he said. “I would not betray you, though now I am curious.”

A lot of the Quidditch team was Bulgarian and they all kept writing to their assigned people though they didn’t share much about them. He wished it was a little easier to narrow down, but he’d figure something out

“I will teach you, mila,” Viktor said with a smile. “Though I must warn you, Bulgarian men have a weakness for their home language… so pardon me if I stare at you.”

Hermione laughed, “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

“I would not say so,” he said. “You have a beautiful voice in Greek.”

Hermione cleared her throat and he thought it strange had no one ever told her that? Complimented her?

“What about your girl?”

“She is a duelist,” he said. “But she is not in Slytherin.”

She huffed, “Well that narrows it down considerably.”

“Da,” he said with ease. “He would be a fool not to love you.”

Hermione blinked, confused and taken aback by the ease of his tone. It just didn’t fit with the intensity of his eyes looking at her. He was so... _ intense _ that she had to look away or she would say something stupid like…

“Why do you not want to be seen?”

It was Viktor’s turn to be surprised but he waited for her to explain after she tried her best to hide in her book.

“N-Never mind--”

Viktor caught her chin on the edge of his hand and tilted it up so their eyes met, “Do not hide from me.”

Her eyes flutter and heat pooled in his stomach, making his blood race. When was the last time someone had looked at him like that? Utterly…

Laid bare. He drew back slowly, letting his finger drag along the underside of her chin. She was dangerous. She would be dangerous if he let her. 

“You asked a question, what do you mean?”

“You… hunch, but it isn’t bad posture, it’s… purposeful. I’ve seen you on a broom and you like to try and disappear into the corner of rooms… You’re… like six feet tall aren’t you?”

He swallowed, “I’m six-four.”

Her eyes widened and dragged over him, “Right...So why?”

“How would you feel if the entire world felt the need to watch every move you ever made?”

Hermione worried her lip and looked down, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

Viktor reached out, placed a hand on hers, quieting her with the touch and warmth of his hand radiating up his arm. 

“Shh,  _ mila, _ ” he said. “There’s no need to be flustered. There’s no question you would ask that would make me angry.”

She blinked at him, a little confused at his wording but then his hand was gone and she had to swallow a desperate sound that surprised her in its existence. He gave her a smile and waited until she went back to reading to drop the smile and return to his book less he have a rather embarrassing problem that he couldn’t really get rid of easily. For a moment, he wondered if Hermione was as inexperienced in all the ways he thought… then if Biblio-logical was too… What she would think of the other things about him that he could not tell her in letters. 

“I’m going to head to bed,” she said standing. “Think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Will you sleep?”

She shrugged, “Probably not. You?”

Viktor nodded, “It will be difficult.”

“Maybe you can talk to your girl,” she said with a smile, picking up her stack of books. 

“Mila!” He said reprimanding her as she shoved her books in her bag and went to go check them out. 

_ If I could, I would turn her over my knee, _ the through shocked him with how much he realized that he  _ wanted _ to turn her over his knee. Spank her until she cried… until she came… until she was just a writhing, pleading mess in his lap. He closed his eyes and put his books in his bag, rolled up his parchments and headed out of the library as quickly as possible so no one would notice exactly how much he was trying to hide the raging hard outline in his trousers, thankful that the length of his tunic added a bit of decency until he arrived back at the ship and sat on his bed, trying to ease the reaction down and breathe through it. 

When her letter appeared, he prayed that within it would be something that wouldn’t make it worse. It was mostly honest and innocent, telling him about one of the dreams she'd had and in so much detail. It didn't align with anything he'd dreamed, but it also was too sensual. Innocent, intimate but it was enough to fry his brain. He knew that the greatest turn on for him had always been intimacy. It was why he'd never managed to pick up a Quidditch groupie, why Olivia and he, then Anastasia and he, worked so well. This was different, this dream she'd relayed to him. Skin to skin speaking soft praises, whispers against the soul, gentle. Hands so very strong so gentle on pulse points, hot breath grazing just behind and soft sighs of contentment that she was real, tangible in someone’s arms.

By the Gods, was he grateful that he had his own cabin. By the time he finished reading her letter he was so hot, bothered, and otherwise turned on he couldn’t do much else but cast a silencing ward on the entire cabin, get his pants down and close his eyes.

It feels like a race with his sanity, with his moans filling the eerie quiet of the room and it’s her face. Hermione’s face looking at him from the edge of his hand that does it. The rush clears the heat from his mind, but it’s bittersweet. Something like a ruined orgasm but not quite that meaningful.

Hermione wasn’t the girl he’d come to know. 

What if they were nothing alike?

What if Biblio-logical didn’t even want him that way? 

What if she didn’t want him at all?

And Hermione already had a love interest--

He groaned. Fuck his life.


	14. You’re The Color Of My Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragonheart has a request. Hermione is a cheater and she really can't study for the kinds of word-games that Viktor likes to play.

Hermione climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor tower and wished more than anything that there was a letter from Dragonheart to lift her spirits. She was a duelist, but she’d never encountered so many hexes in the corridors. She would get that evil Rita Skeeter if it was the last thing she did. Hexed mail rained down on her head, hexes during lunch, during breakfast and dinner, on the way to classes. Meanwhile, Viktor’s fan base seemed to have grown, following him around during his workouts on the grounds, annoying him to no end. 

Karkaroff was even more of a state than usual. Sure, Viktor had cleared the first task with a perfect score, but the idea of having her name and Viktor’s connected in the papers had driven the man back into his hateful demeanor and quite honestly she didn’t care. 

“At least you’re getting practice?” Faye said as she came into the room. 

“I can’t even take a bath in peace,” she said, crawling into bed and laying down. 

“Pennyworth?”

She snorted, “Johnson actually.”

Faye nodded in sympathy, “At least Lavender and Padma aren’t talking to you anymore.”

“Saving grace,” it seemed that the entire female population had wigged out after the article about her and Viktor's apparent love affair, calling her all sorts of nasty things in the bathrooms, trying to hex her as much as possible. Viktor had been apologetic, offering her chocolate, per their bet, but even more in apology. 

" _I'm sorry my fans are crazy,_ " he'd said offering a box of Swedish chocolate covered pecans. 

It was a sweet gesture, literally and figuratively, but there was nothing he could really do besides try to avoid the silly girls who followed him around and threw knickers at him in the library. She still laughed about that and cried out to the heavens when the letter appeared.

“Your boyfriend?” Helena teased and Hermione glowered at her.

“Hush up you, both.”

“Come on Hermione,” Faye said bouncing onto her bed, “Humor us? Just this once?”

Hermione looked at her and rolled her eyes opening the letter which prompted Helena to go get Ginny. It was rather odd to be surrounded by three teenage girls wanting to hear about the very friendly correspondence she and Dragonheart traded. 

“You’re going to be disappointed,” Hermione said.

“Doubt it,” Ginny said scrambling in with Helena to climb onto the bed as Hermione sat up and began to read. 

“ _ Your Hermione Granger has become quite the hit with us-- _ ”

Ginny grinned and nudged her, “Go on now. Don’t leave us in suspense!”

“ _ Viktor thinks very highly of her and it helps that she puts the demon in his place. I don’t believe I’ve seen everyone is such a good mood with Karkaroff in such a state. You would think he’d be happy that Viktor has finished first! Apparently thanks to your Ms. Granger. There was a bet involving chocolate about the shield charm over the eggs which he gracefully lost. If you know her, I hope she’s enjoying them.  _

_ I’m not sure what to think. I thought the book was one of poems from all the translations, but I do not have the knowledge of ancient languages that you do. I wrote home to ask my grandmother about it and she directed me to a book in the library, I’ve put the title below, but from what I gathered, there may be some truth to your theory. As for your dreams, I would wager that you are a reincarnation of the woman who’s life you step into and out of. Perhaps the man in your dream is your soulmate.  _

_ Honestly, I'm rather jealous of this man in your visions. Forgive me if this seems out of turn, but I don't think, being this close to you after years of being so far away and wondering what you sound like, how you laugh, that there's any reason to as you say, beat around the bush. Is it wrong to say that I wish it was me? _ ”

Her jaw dropped as they squealed and nudged her, “Go on! Go on!”

“I assure you this isn’t the usual nature of these letters!”

“Don’t care, keep reading!”

“ _ From what you’ve told me, I know it is not. My latest dream was of a tomb, pressing a block into place, but it was not a pyramid, but an old Greek burial tomb, marked with the epithet “Lady of Athens” and a name I could not read. I’ve never had such a surreal dream before, I woke up sore. I have others, but this is the first time that there were any words. There is one that recurs, growing longer every time. The last time I had it, I was standing the Parthenon in Athens, there is a woman standing at the window, dark curly hair, a white toga over dark skin. There’s armor and other weaponry to her left as she looks out among the billowing curtains. I walk up behind her and press a kiss to her neck, then her bare shoulder, arms sliding down her shoulders and around her waist and take in the scent of her. She’s so beautiful and I haven’t even seen her yet.  The wind smells like the Mediterranean, the spices and warm of the coast drifting on the wind. The sun rising slowly in the distance.  In the distance, I could almost make out Egypt and its glorious pyramids. I tell her that she should have still been in bed. That I love her. That I want to come home to her more than anything. We had only just found one another, only just began what was rightfully supposed to be our lives together. In secret, sure, but it would have been ours.  _

_ But I know there is no chance to delay the inevitable. So I rock her, pulling her against me, feeling her warmth and trying to commit it to memory until she stops shaking. I know I will go soon and there’s a good chance that I won’t ever return. If I do, it will not be with victory. It is unfair, it’s the only thing I can think. Whoever this woman is, whatever we are, we had waited for centuries to be together, it isn’t fair that we have to wait longer.  I don’t want to, but I have no choice. So I press a kiss to her cheek, slow to separate and turn before I betray whatever oath I have sworn that makes me leave her.  _

_ She says something that I can’t understand as I get dressed for battle, the shield, sword, and leather armor near the door. The other set, hers I think, remained untouched. _

_ I tell her always, so I assume she asked me if I would come back to her. I force myself to leave and not look back because I want...so much not to go and it hurts too much to think that I would not see her in this lifetime again. _

_ I woke up in a bitter pain that I can’t explain.” _

Her hand went to her heart as she read over the words again, being sure she wasn't crazy. It was her dream, nearly image for image but she breathed. It could have been a coincidence, it could not be the same place, men leaving their loved ones for war wasn't strange and the only thing she knew of the room had been the color of the stone framing the window. It had been a distinct green and blue like the Dead Sea at noon.

She licked her lips and continued reading. 

_ "I don't believe I've ever seen rock the color of the Dead Sea before, I went looking for it and found it one of the books in the Hogwarts library. It's apparently a special kind of crystal that can hold large amounts of protective and illusory magic. I have to assume that the woman was Athena. I have not seen her face, but I get the feeling that we are happy in those moments together. Having said all of this, I'm rather jealous of the man in your dreams, after all, he probably hasn't even met you yet.  _

_ No matter, I'm a gentleman I can take defeat with grace. I still wish to meet you and have a proposition. I know how you worry for what will become of our relationship if we meet. I wish to make it a when even if we never speak again after. I don't think we wrote for four years of things that perhaps not even our families know to voices in the void to be stopped by fear.  _

_ Will you go with me to the Yule Ball?  _

_ We could meet at the entrance before the beginning or in the crowd. It will not matter to me either way, even if it is only briefly. I wish to meet you in person to have a face to go with the years between us.  _

_ Think on it. Get some sleep, mila.” _

She looked up a little dumbfounded.

"What exactly do you talk about that prompts him to basically confess undying love for you?" Helena asked.

"Everything..."

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked. "Other than your letter boyfriend apparently has a soulmate that isn't you."

"I've had that dream...several times over the last few years."

Faye squealed first surprising them all.

"He's your soulmate!"

"You don't know that, " Hermione hedged. "Magic is strange that way. I'm not even--"

"Hermione Jean Granger do not start backing out because you're afraid!" Ginny said. "You have major chemistry with this guy and even if he isn't that isn't a reason not to give it a try. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Horrible embarrassment, humiliation, rejection, and any other variation of a frighteningly devastating blow to my already fragile self-esteem,” Hermione said looking at the letter.

They’re taken aback for a moment. Hermione’s voice had lost all sense of inflection, no sarcasm, her expression went blank, like a younger, darker version of Snape. She could have been announcing the weather with that voice, but the words speak of a terror that is unfathomable. 

“Hermione,” Ginny started. “Are you… okay?”

She folded the letter and pulled her knees to her chest.

“I’m fine.”

Faye and Helena traded glances and without a moment’s more of preamble crawled up to the top of the bed to sit on either side of her, slinging arms around her shoulders and leaning their heads together. Hermione isn’t sure what’s happening, but a part of her relaxes at the touch, shaking a bit. She'd have to research the effects of touch between witches and wizards.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Faye said. “This isn’t the same as dueling, so we’re not going to say what you tell the first years.”

She chuckled a bit, “No… I suppose not.”

“But think on it,” Helena said softly. “And if you want to talk we’re here.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “Thanks.”

She heard the curfew bell chime and sighed, “I should get some sleep. Early morning training with the champion.”

Ginny smiled, “Yeah? We’ll be sure to put that on your talk about later list too.”

She laughed and nodded before getting up to walk Giny back to her room and accept an almost too tight hug from her. 

“It’s okay,” Ginny told her. “Everything will be just fine.”

Hermione nodded and sighed before heading back to her room and crawling into bed. She hoped for sleep and it came, but it was anything but restful. No dreams, no nightmares, just an unnerving darkness around her and her own voice speaking to her, screaming, trembling, crying all around her. Wanting peace, wanting answers, wanting sleep, wanting, wanting, wanting…

When she woke up, she isn’t even sure how she managed to do so give her odd state of sleep, but she got up, cleaned herself up and got dressed for a workout before heading towards the dock to find Viktor and another Durmstrang student engaging in some sort of martial arts. Something in between wrestling and boxing. It’s a primal dance between the two making her vision blur, the heat of the air on her face as two bodies fight before her. She can’t see the winner’s face as he’s turned away from her, but she’s clapping in this vision as he raises his fist in victory, naked. As the vision melts away and the victor cheers in triumph, she realizes that it had to have been a Greek contest, the man who’d won was the man in all of her other visions. 

“Hermione,” he greeted coming over to her, shaking her out of her thoughts.

“Good morning,” she greeted in chipper Greek, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That looked like fun…”

“It was...are you okay? You look troubled, mila.”

She nodded, “Just… a sort of restless night. I’m fine. Martial arts today?”

Viktor hummed, “It’s usual for Durmstrang students.”

“Well, I guess you should teach me then,” she said. “Honorary and all.”

Viktor regarded her, something told him that he should press, but he let it go considering that they didn’t truly know each other very well. The other boys of Durmstrang came out laughing, teasing Milo who glowered, yet seemed thankful that he was among people who spoke his language. They waved to her calling out to her in greeting before pairing up leaving Viktor with her. 

“First, hit me.”

“What?”

“Hard as you can,” Viktor said. “I need to know how well you fight now.”

Hermione winced but stepped back and pulled her punch, “This is crazy!”

“I will be fine, mila,” Viktor said. “I have been hit by bigger people. As hard as you can.”

Hermione sighed, “Alright…”

She took a deep breath, stepped back and raised her fists, recalling Hermes’s coaching. Just below the ribcage and angle up. She felt the odd feeling of magic over her knuckles and turned into the punch effectively knocking the air out of Viktor’s diaphragm and causing him to cough, stepping back and holding up his hand. The rest of the boys looked over as she winced and collapsed to the ground trying to breathe around the nausea that had come just with the pain.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-- oh my god, sit down, just breathe if you can. I’ll fix it! I promise!”

Viktor panted, curling into himself to try and make sense of the pain before looking at her worried face, talking to him her wand out to tease the ache away as he managed to take a full breath. For a moment, she looks world different, a diadem on her brown, a sphendone tying back her hair and her glowing hand reaching out to him. 

He thinks Hestia and as the pain fades he manages to breathe and then laugh.

“You are rather strong, mila.”

“I’m sorry! My grandfather taught me to defend myself then I got this book on ancient wizarding boxing and Heraklesian theory and I wanted to try it and--”

He placed a hand over her mouth, giving her an amused look, “You are beautiful when you babble. It is rather distracting.”

Her mouth snapped shut and she drew back as he stood and stretched, offering a hand to help her up she took it timidly as Vlad came over. 

“You are okay?” Vlad asked Viktor looking between the two of them. 

He grinned and shook his head, patting Hermione on the shoulder, “She is stronger than she looks and a cheater.”

Vlad looked at her suspiciously then to Viktor’s face. Hermione frowned working out the word…

“I am not a cheater!” Hermione cried in indignant Greek earning Viktor’s laugh. “You said as hard as I could!”

“Did not mean Herakles,” Viktor said nodding at her and looking at Vlad. “She read technique in book and decide to try on me-- cheater.”

Hermione glared at him and his English as Vlad smirked at her, “You said you’d be fine! I didn’t know and I fixed you! I’m sorry!”

Vlad smiled and looked at Viktor, leaning close to whisper in Bulgarian, “You like her upset don’t you?”

Viktor shook his head, his eyes looking at Hermione, “There is a fire in her eyes. It’s rather addicting.”

Vlad laughed and went back to tell the rest of them that he was perfectly fine and that he was goading her before Viktor looked back at Hermione who looked thoroughly repentant, shuffling her shoes. 

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled, “It’s okay, mila. It hurt, but that was the point.”

Hermione looked up at him warily, “You… don’t think it’s weird?”

He scoffed, “No. It’s good your grandfather taught you to defend yourself. Good that you can defend yourself magically and not, but you’ll have to teach me that.”

“Only if you teach me that kick from earlier,” she challenged.

“Deal.”

Viktor walked her through the preparation for the kick, telling her that he back leg was where most of the leaping power would come from, moving her into position, hand on her shoulder, the other on her wrist before mirroring her position and walking her through it physically. 

The first time she fell backward. The second time she fell into a split. The third time she managed the full kick, but lost control at the end and ran into him. 

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Viktor said steadying her and looking down at her.

They were so dangerous, her eyes, that luscious mouth that was parted looking up at him. He closed his eyes and released her, stopping himself before he did something to offend her or betray himself. Hermione cleared her throat and went about explaining the theory behind the technique, like a shield charm cast right on top of your skin and a jolt of pure power. 

“Like metabolizing magic, or an accelerant charm, it gives you explosive power and shields your body from the opposing force. The witch who wrote about it had a theory that this was how Herakles built his name.”

He smiled listening to her go on about what she’d read, her own thoughts behind it and walking him through the focusing process she used to conjure the shield. 

“I’ve only been able to use it on my fists when I’m punching, but I think it has potential to do more.”

It was non-verbal and wandless so it required a bit more concentration, but it was enormously effective. They practice a little bit, getting Viktor to try and conjure the shield over a fist, but to no avail. He can’t explain how much it bothers him to fail at it, but when he’s staring at his fist and glaring at it through most of breakfast she nudged him. 

“Take it easy or you’ll blow a gasket,” she said in English earning a roar of laughter down the table. He glowered at her, slinging an arm around her neck and tugging her close to speak in low, dark Greek. 

“It’s not nice to tease,” he said.

She jolted away from him as he grinned at her. She shoved him earning a laugh and comments from down the table. 

“They say you should be careful--International Viktor is dangerous.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “One Hit Knock Out Viktor, maybe.”

They laughed as did Viktor, cheering her comeback and her superior smirk as Viktor ran his tongue along his teeth, grinning at her and staring at her in a way that was a little too intense. 

“I am more of a lover, not a fighter,” he said in almost purring Greek.

“Does that line work on anyone?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her stomach from jumping everywhere. “And as you said, it isn’t nice to tease.”

“I’m not,” he said and Hermione officially threw in the towel. It was one thing to toss insults back and forth with Ron or any of the boys of Gryffindor, but she was pretty sure that the game Viktor was playing was well beyond her skill level. She ate, stood up and grabbed her bag, careful to tug her tunic down as she got up. 

“I am gracefully bowing out of this match,” Hermione announced, patting him on the shoulder. “Later boys.”

“Wait,” someone called out. “You come with us to Hogsmeade yes? We have no idea where to go.”

Hermione shrugged, “Sure. I’ll meet you by the courtyard around noon?”

“Da! Thank you!”

She waved them goodbye, tugging a book from her bag to read on the way to class and settled in easily enough. She sees Viktor again in the dueling class but she’s distracted by the younger students about how to cast spells and accurately hit their targets. She demonstrated for them.

“It’s mostly in the wrist and enunciation,” she said showing them the movement then casting the spell at the dueling dummy so its wand went flying away. She summoned it back and watched them try. 

“You are a good teacher,” Viktor said coming up behind her at the end of class.

“So are you,” she said. “I think they adore you.”

“Yes, when girls are not giggling.”

Hermione pouted, “Poor baby.”

*

That night, Viktor stands on the docks to read his letter in the cool wind. 

_ I’m glad to hear that Hermione has become so popular with you all, her having to wear the uniform and whatnot. From what I hear, she enjoyed the chocolate far more than being right. She is having a rather difficult time since helping Viktor win the first task. Her loyalty to Hogwarts is under question and a few people have said some rather nasty things to her, but she’s Hermione so you’ll never really know if it’s bothering her, just that she’ll tough it out.  _

_ The dream you speak of sounds a lot like the one that I’ve had at least once a week or so since coming to Hogwarts. _

His hands tightened, his heart racing. 

_ That being said, I am not yet seventeen so anything is possible. I debated on whether to tell you this because I thought perhaps it would make you more persistent to meet me. I don’t want to lose our friendship over something that’s a potential. I don’t want to lose our friendship at all and I fear that if we do meet, I won’t be up to whatever image you’ve conjured in your mind reading these letters. As usual, it has everything to do with me and my abysmal lack of self-esteem. Don’t take it personally, Dragonheart.  You’ve been absolutely wonderful to me when I so desperately needed it,  There isn’t a thing in the world that I would give this up for.  I just need time to think.  _

_ I will think on your proposition. If it is not too much of a burden to ask for time. _

_ Best,  _

_ Biblio-logical. _

Viktor let out a breath into the night wind. At least it wasn’t a no.


	15. You’re the Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Hermione have a heart to heart. Boys are mean. And if there was anything one could say about Hermes, it was that he loved his granddaughter to the ends of the Earth and he wants her to be happy... 
> 
> Thank goodness he has some help.

Viktor walked in to see nothing, but heard a rhythmic thumping. He frowned, closing the door and looking around. Igor was still in the Great Hall meaning…

“Hermione?” he called, looking around. “Where are you?”

The thumping continued and he frown casting disenchantment spells as he followed the sound until the spell broke over her. It’s the sound of hyperventilating and struggling breaths, sobs, and Hermione’s voice that greets him. Still in her Durmstrang uniform, her bag beside her as she rocked. 

“ _ It’s okay, Mia… It’s okay… Just breathe, Mia. Breathe… It won’t happen again...” _

“Hermione?”

“Don’t look!” Hermione screamed, cowering. “Please, I--”

Viktor caught her frantic hands and held her wrists tightly, looking at her and watching the fresh batch of tears roll down her cheeks. Her eyes darted around his face frantically, unfocused, fearful. Usually a warm brown, she was pale with shock or terror--what the hell had happened to her?

“Mila,” he said softly. “Come here.”

She flinched and moved again, but he held her firmly, tugging her forward and rolling back to sit against the wall and pull her into his arms, between his legs. It’s slow and familiar for him, like stepping into a different world to have her curled up against him, an arm around her waist, a hand in her hair. 

He summoned his cloak to wrap her in and rocked her, whispering soft, soothing Greek in her ear, coaxing her to breathe with him until she managed to calm down and sink into the warmth of his arms, too exhausted to do much else.

“Good girl,” he said as she relaxed against him and closed her eyes.

He let out a slow breath, trying to keep his voice even and giving her a bit of time to come back to reality from wherever she'd gone.

“Tell me what happened,” he said into the bulk of her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp and reveling in exactly how soft her curls were, how much there is of it, thick and curly… it looked amazing in his hands. He wondered what she would look like if he pulled it until her head tipped back, how her eyes would shine or go even darker. He wondered if her breath would catch or would she pant and squirm... 

_Focus Viktor,_ he chided, not that he hadn’t already slipped up. This was about her.  It was always about the other person's comfort, he should know that by now.

“I can’t ever meet him,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I’m not… I can’t...I’d rather never know than face this.”

“Face what, mila?”

“He asked me to the Yule Ball…” she said softly. “But I… my own housemates don’t even want to--and I can’t… I flinch. I’m awkward. I can’t even stand them touching me I feel so  _ exposed _ how am I supposed to meet him? This person who I’ve been spilling my soul to for years? I can’t… I can’t even--”

“Mila,” he chided, stroking her hair so she breathed through another hiccup. “You have to breathe. Tell me what happened.”

She let out a breath and told him about McGonagall’s House gathering to teach them the waltz. She’d never danced before and no one wanted to dance with her, it was an utterly humiliating nightmare. Minerva did her best, forcing them to pair up, pairing her with Harry, but she’d flinched away from him and after awhile, she was just too rigid for it to work no matter how he tried to make her relax. Harry had given a valiant effort, but with jeering and other words, she’d respectfully admitted defeat. Of course, being completely deplorable at it wasn’t helped at all by the fact that they wanted to make fun of her. 

_ Graceful swan--more like a choking Erumphent. _

_ I told you she’s mental. _

Viktor listened stroking her hair and gathering that her anxiety attack wasn’t about dancing, it wasn’t about Harry or her housemates either. There was something else… 

_ Mental _ , he thought, from the way she‘d said it, the way it had sounded like a sob all on its own. It was about the word  _ mental _ . 

If he remembered, it was an English term for “crazy” someone who was actually mentally unstable, but more often used as a derogatory term to mark behavior that wasn’t ordinary and mostly annoying.

“Hermione,” he started, tentatively, sure to keep his Greek steady and soothing. “It's...this word mental that bothered you most, isn’t it?”

Hermione flinched and went silent, her breath speeding up.

“I’m not mental,” she said in English, letting the world tumble out of her mouth faster than she could breathe. “I’m not  _ mental _ .”

Viktor frowned listening to her repeat the sentence over and over again like a mantra that seemed to carry no power. The tears returned, the shaking and the lack of breath-- if anything it seemed to be making it worse, her eyes staring into her own hell.

He licked his lips and perhaps, in a total abuse of this power and the desire he had for her, he cast his voice low, and filled it with authority, commanding her to look at him. Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his. He swallowed the grunt of desire at exactly how responsive she was. For the love of the gods, had it been so long that he had no sense of control?

“Good girl,” he said gently, stroking her face. “You are not mental.”

Her jaw trembled and he felt her relax a bit.

“You are not mental, beautiful curly haired girl,” he said. “They should feel lucky to have the chance to dance with you.”

She sniffled, easing into his touch, staring at him with eyes so open and honest, he wants… wants--

“You have anxieties; it’s normal,” he said, gruffly, swallowing what he really wanted to say. “This will be your first dance, won’t it?”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“Boys are cruel with no regard for people’s feelings but their own. Stupid, selfish and not worth your time. Perhaps you should hit them the way you hit me, it would at least shut them up.”

She laughed, nudging him, “Not funny.”

“But it made you smile,” Viktor said. “Mission accomplished. As for dancing, I can teach you.”

She looked up at him, “But...uh…”

“No buts, I must steal a dance now before you meet your correspondent and I never have the chance to whirl you around.”

He smirked, rubbing her back slowly, “Tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Viktor,” she said looking up at him. “I’m not sure how to thank you.”

He grinned, “Let me teach you how to fly.”

She flinched, “Somehow… I knew you were going to say that.”

He laughed as she stood up and let out a breath, “You promise I won’t fall?”

“No,” Viktor said, tucking a curl behind her ear. “But I promise to catch you.”

She smiled at him and nodded, “I’ll take that.”

Viktor nodded and sighed walking her to the table and sitting down across from her. She moved to give him back his cloak, but he tightened it around her and told her to keep it until she was warm.

“Will you tell me… why “mental” is a trigger for you?”

She looked at him and let her eyes drift away, “Let’s… just say that it hits a little too close to home.”

He regarded her and nodded, “Okay.”

She looked at him, “You’re not going to pry?”

“You would tell me if you wanted me to know,” he said easily, grabbing for a book. “I am only grateful you let me comfort you when you obviously are not used to such luxuries.”

She looked down and fiddled with her hands, “You should know… I am, you know, supposed to help you and if something happens... “

“Don’t use this as a reason,” Viktor said. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t.”

She swallowed and let out a breath.

She shook her head, “I’ve never told anyone else as no one here really gets it…In the wizarding world, “madness”... being “mental” is a thing of whimsy, something related to all the greatest wizards… almost said affectionately to reference eccentricities.”

Viktor shook his head. He could see that. 

“They don’t understand what… what it’s like… They think being odd is all there is to it…”

Viktor waited, watched her as she let out a breath.

“When I was little,” she started. “Like two or so… there was a boy on the playground.”

She let out a shuddering breath, watching the memory behind her vision as she looked at her hands. He’d been so very ugly with his sneering, pushing her around, shoving her down and sitting on her, spitting on her face yelling horrible things at her while kids jeered around her. She remembered that she’d cut herself on the way down. She remembered thinking that she shouldn’t cry because then he’d win, that’s what he wanted, for her to cry like the other girls did and she would never give him that satisfaction. He grabbed fistfuls of dirt trying to make her eat it, saying she was dirty so she should eat dirt. 

“I punched him in the face,” she said. “And I didn’t stop.”

Viktor waited. 

Hermes had come first, furious that there wasn’t a teacher around to watch them, to stop this with her in his arms trembling, silent and devoid of any reaction. She didn’t talk for days after, in or out of class, but the bullying kept up, made worse by her lack of reaction. 

“My parents took me to every doctor they could and they gave me medicine. Anti-anxiety, anti-psychotics…”

Viktor frowned, he didn’t know much about muggle medicine, but he was pretty sure that what she was talking about shouldn’t have been happening.

“You… were two…”

She nodded, “When I was five, there was another incident. Much worse than the first, a different school, a group of boys. They were bigger…”

She remembered that the ring leader had been so very much bigger than her, at least four grades above her. She was on her medication then, screaming while he and his friends smeared dirt on her face trying to see if it looked the same as her skin. Pulling at her hair, jabbing her with sticks, hitting her, calling her a freak because she didn’t have any magic ink on her skin. Viktor gripped his hand tightly, probably putting too much stress on the book he held, his face probably flushed with rage. 

“It felt like… something had snapped,” she said. 

A great surge of power and she’d screamed as it burst out of her and everything went black.

“I woke up to my grandfather sitting at my bedside, holding my hand… in a hospital. The boys were in the hospital too. More nearly dead than traumatized. He told me that it wasn’t my fault, told me that he was taking me with him. I went to a private school that had rather stringent conduct rules until I was about eleven.”

In that time, she’d been through several doctors and several combinations of pills. She remembered the doctors, remembered the prescriptions and how they made her feel. She remembered Greece as a place of wonder and love while London had always been...

She shook her head, not wanting to think about it.

“When you’re actually… mentally ill, to have it hurled in your face like that, tossed around as an insult so casually when they have no idea what a struggle it is…” she said, her voice cracking. “It’s…”

Viktor reached out, placing a hand on hers, then taking her other hand in his own. 

“Hermione,” he started. “I… am so very sorry. You, sweet, wonderful woman, you did not deserve that; you don’t deserve their cruelty.”

She let out a shuddering breath, “You’re not… freaked out?”

“No,” he said. “You are not mental-- you’re ill.”

“It’s not something that can be cured--”

“We all have illnesses that can’t be cured,” Viktor said meeting her eyes. “Insecurities, fears, weaknesses...Yours just may have a fancy muggle name.”

She let out a bit of a laugh, her lips lifting a bit.

“And your correspondent would be a fool to let you slip through your fingers because of it… If he does, I’ll pummel him for you and whisk you away myself.”

Hermione laughed shaking her head, “I thought you were waiting to meet your correspondent? I didn’t take you as easily deterred.”

He gave her a wry grin, “Usually, I’m not, but… I am only human with illnesses of my own. Perseverance is sometimes more painful than nobility.”

“Illnesses?” She asked. “Of what nature?”

He snorted, “Well, for one I have broken my nose a few too many times.”

She shrugged, “It adds character.”

“My face has enough character,” he said looking at her. “And I am not exactly a David.”

She hummed, looking at him, really looking at him. His slightly crooked, slightly hooked nose, full lips, olive skin, obsidian dark eyes. He was young, but in a few years she bet his cheekbones would be even sharper, his jawline more square. He had facial hair, the kind that boys in Gryffindor dreamed of growing one day. It seemed to sharpen the edges of his face and the wild always windswept hair on his head…

“No,” she said. “Not a David or an Adonis...they’re too pretty.”

He snorted, “I have never heard that before.”

“All the giggling girls weren’t a clue?”

“They follow me for number seven, the Bulgarian Seeker, for my records… not Viktor and certainly not my face.”

Hermione shrugged, “If I was inclined to follow people around based on aesthetics, you would be at the top of the list.”

An eyebrow lifted, “You like the way I look?”

“You’re beautiful,” she said blinking in that completely logical way, her eyes taking in the measurements of his face. “In the masculine way that it takes several years for girls to figure out is preferable to someone who could be prettier than you. Girls like me decided that boys were much better as men.”

He snorted.

“I’m just saying,” she said. “I have enough self-esteem issues without a love interest being prettier than me.”

“No man could be prettier than you,” he said reassuringly. “Not even Diggory.”

She wrinkled her nose, “He is rather pretty.”

“Not your type?” he asked.

“I prefer Herakles to Adonis,” she said. “Lucky for me that the whole of Durmstrang is made of square jaws, isn’t it?”

He nodded, “Very lucky.”

“And you?” She asked, opening her book.

“I am from Bulgaria,” he started. “I prefer… women.”

She looked at him then, “Not giggling and following you around?”

“With curves and a mind in their heads,” Viktor said with a smile. “I grew up with Bulgarian and Grecian figures, it is hard to shirk what you have been accustomed to think of as a woman.”

“Togas, stephanes, sphendones, sandals...” she mused.

“Strong legs, long curly hair, soft curves,” he said looking at her meaningfully. “Round face, full lips, dark eyes...”

She swallowed, tearing her gaze away from his and focusing on the book in her hands as her heart hammered agaisnt her ribcage. There was no mistaking the way he was looking at her. 

Her?

Viktor thought she was attractive? 

He smiled as she tried to hide her face in the book.

“Has no one told you that you are attractive?” Viktor asked.

“Well,” she started. “Probably because I’m not… in the English sense--”

“Hermione,” he started. “There is not a man alive, English or otherwise, who could look at you and not be attracted.”

She shut her mouth and flipped a page, “I thought perhaps the symbols on the egg might mean something…”

He laughed, throwing his head back before stilling her hand. 

“Forgive me, mila. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, only wanted to...medicate. You do not need me to tell you this, but in case you were wondering.”

“Right… well, thank you.”

Viktor smiled turning to pull out his notes, “English men are strange.”

They seemed to have no heat in their blood, or perhaps, as his grandmother’s newest friend suggested, they were incredibly intimidated by a body with such obvious sensuality. Frightened of their own desires, he nodded, he didn’t understand in the slightest. 

All Hermione could hear was her mother and grandfather over the summer telling her that she would have to start beating boys off with a stick… and her father insisting that she wear anything and everything a few sizes too big. He won out if only because she preferred her clothes looser, but she hadn’t encountered an instance of having to beat anyone with a stick yet. 

_ It will take some time, Mia, _ her grandfather said.  _ But don’t you give them the time of day. March on. If they could not see how beautiful you are inside, they aren’t worth the time. _

They studied a bit in silence, making their own separate notes and conversing intermittently until Igor showed up and it was time for her to get to practice. Henry, the other voice of reason, was back meaning that practice would go far more smoothly than times before.

“Goodbye,” she said, pulling her bag on and heading out. 

“Tomorrow?”

She nodded, “Tomorrow.”

“What is tomorrow?” Igor asked Viktor. 

“Training,” he said easily.

Igor hummed and sat down, “You must have date to the ball, your parents have…”

Viktor heard him distantly, something about suitable candidates, pureblood girls and Igor’s favorite, no doubt a girl that would giggle at him all night. 

“ _ Incendio _ ,” he said absently setting the list on fire and then standing. 

“Viktor--”

Viktor looked at him, “The three of you can go to the ball with them if you like them so much.”

Igor stammered, but then he was out the door feeling incredibly accomplished. 

*

Eleonora walked the familiar path towards Olympus, hoping to visit with Hippolyta before having dinner with Hermes that evening. It was so very rare to meet a good man who wasn’t attempting to do more than share in some companionship in their old age. She still hadn’t figured out a way to get Viktor to meet Hermes’ darling granddaughter, but if her luck held out and he came to visit over the summer, she could manage it. 

“Damn it all!”

She looked forward seeing, “Hermes?”

He whirled to look at her, giving her a bright and nervous smile, “El’, hello, fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes, quite the surprise,” she said looking between him and the wall that separated muggles from Olympus, carved with old reliefs who would not speak to muggles. “What are you doing on this side of town?”

“I…” he started swallowing before sighing. “My granddaughter… she’s… her school is hosting a dance and the boy she’s been writing has asked her to meet him there.”

“That’s wonderful!” She said smiling, “Yet you look so distraught.”

“She’s nervous,” he said. “I thought to procure her… formal wear for the event and send it with a letter, hoping that with that removed, she would have the courage to go meet him, but… I can’t get to a suitable shop.”

“A suitable shop… here in this alley? Are you lost?”

Hermes winced and, in a flash, she lifted the pages from his hands with curiosity. 

“No--wait--”

The map was magical, leading him directly to where he was meant to go, but he  _ being a muggle _ couldn’t get past the wall. 

“Where did you get this?”

“Uhm,” he stammered. “My granddaughter--one of her professors gave it to me to help, but--”

“You’re a muggle.”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “Wait… how do you know that word?”

Eleonora laughed, “Well Hermes, that’s because I happen to be a witch and I’m not sure who told you to go to that cow, Arachne, but thank goodness we’ve run into one another.”

She pulled out her wand and waved it. The statues moved, standing from their places and moved to pull the columns aside. He looked at her.

“Well... that’s… fantastic.”

“I should have known that Hermione was a witch,” she said, thoughtfully remembering the sort of familiar feeling she had around her.  “She goes to Hogwarts doesn’t she?”

Hermes nodded and, ever the gentleman, took her by the arm and escorted her down the center of the alley. It’s just as he remembered even as he looked at his map. 

“She does,” he said. “El’, where are you taking me?”

She laughed, “Don’t worry, there’s no black market for muggles in Greece. Arachne is a cow and would only throw something together and call it a masterpiece. Besides, Hermione can’t meet this boy in just anything! It has to be the best, and by heavens, if I couldn’t actually dress my own grandson, I’m dressing  _ someone _ for their first ball.” 

Hermes gave her a hopeless look, “I don’t know the difference.”

“You have anything of hers with you?”

“Her letter,” he said. “I got it, read it and rushed out of the house this morning…”

She smiled, “You love her to bits and pieces.”

He laughed, “She’s like a third daughter… who actually likes being Greek.”

She shrugged, “My grandson is in the tournament, says he’s eternally indebted to his assistant for chocolate.”

He laughed, “That’s good. Mia says she’s helping someone in the tournament as well… against her will, but she likes him.”

“Which champion?” She asked leading them to turn a corner.

“The one from Durmstrang,” he said.

Eleonora looked at her, “Viktor goes to Durmstrang.”

He blinked with a grin, “You don’t say?”

“Who knew the universe was on the side of scheming grandparents?”

He laughed and opened the door to the shop called Hippolyta’s Girdle.

“Hippolyta, dear? Are you in?”

“Coming!” A spritely voice called from the back along with the tumble of things onto the ground. “That girl! I’ll wring her neck!”

She shook her head listening and bading Hermes to take a seat as Hippolyta appeared, very Greek, very busty and spritely in a long casual green chiton.

“Eleonora!” She cheered coming over to hug her tight in her fleshy arms. “It has been too long! How are you?! I have Viktor’s robes done of course, would you like me to send them?”

“That would be wonderful and perhaps one more,” she said turning. “Hippolyta, this is Hermes. Hippolyta here is the best dress robes maker in all of Greece, if not the world. I would wear anything that was made by her hands.”

She beamed and Hermes stood, pressing a kiss to Hippolyta’s hand, “A pleasure.”

“Oh my, another old world gentleman for you, Eleonora? I thought they were so very rare in the muggle world.”

She nodded, “They are, hence why we’re friends now… and he’s my neighbor… of sorts.”

Hermes laughed at that. The woman’s house was a full mile away, but that hadn’t stopped him from stopping by when she’d moved in to welcome her to the “neighborhood” and offer his help with her yard.

“Sit! Tell me what’s going on.”

Hippolyta gestured to Hermes who began to explain Hermione’s current predicament. She gave him a soft smile.

“You love her to bits and pieces don’t you?”

He laughed, “Yes.”

“Well go on, tell me about her and this boy. Would you happen to have something of hers?”

“Her letter… would that do?”

“Oh even better, feel free to fold it up, I don’t need to read it.”

Hermes handed over the envelope with the letter inside and watched her giggle.

She shook a little bit with the tingling sensation in her fingertips and the warmth radiating out from the letter, like a constellation of energy around it.

“A rather powerful one, isn’t she?” She said looking at the letter. “Very powerful old soul indeed, how old is she?”

“Fifteen.”

She nodded and looked to Eleonora, “Makes me think of Viktor. Sparks leaping up off the page!”

She chuckled at that and explained to Hermes that Hippolyta had a touch of divination in her blood, she couldn’t tell you when your grandchild would be born, but she could suss out pretty effectively someone’s heart. It had made her a great Inquisitor for the Greek Ministry of Magic during the war.

“And now I use my talents for good!” She said setting the letter down. “Bit of a warning.”

She waved her wand over it and watched blue sparks shoot out into wisping smoke and starlight.

“Wow,” she said. “Have they met?”

“Yes, without our meddling too!” Eleonora said. “She’s his assistant for the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

She let out a low breath, “Well that just seems unfair, having two people so compatible together. Why not just give Durmstrang the trophy?”

Hermes shrugged, “What… did the sparks mean?”

“Power,” she said simply. “Lots of power, old, raw power. Her magic is exceedingly pure, like Viktor’s. We should shove this in his mother’s face and see how she feels about it.”

Eleonora smirked, thinking of the woman's face turning red in rage at the thought of Viktor being even remotely compatible with the muggle born witch.

“Don’t tempt me,” Eleonora said.

“The color is about her temperament, you said she was incredibly level-headed, but the smoke means anxious… she must really like this boy.”

Hermes let out a sigh, “She’s been trading letters with him for four years, I would hope so.”

Hippolyta nodded, standing with the letter in her hand, “Just another test, dearie, she needs dress robes, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Well, I will say they will be the best dressed in the assembly,” she said grabbing a vial of powder to burn in a small bowl beneath the letter. Hermes wasn’t sure what was going on as the letter floated, a periwinkle colored card fell from the side of the bowl and she nodded impressed.

From the texture and quality of the card conjured from her storeroom, she knew that this would be one of the best gowns she'd ever created, if not the best. The last person to conjure such high-quality cardstock from her stores and color it had been Viktor after all.

“Yes, I do believe this will be one of the finest gowns I have ever created.”

“Do you happen to know where there’s a wizarding bank?” Hermes asked. “I’m afraid, getting to one as a muggle is rather difficult.”

Eleonora laughed, “Put it on my tab.”

Hippolyta rolled her eyes, “As if I would charge you… you know I only charge people I don’t like.”

Hermes frowned, “I couldn’t—“

“Not an option dear,” she said loftily, sending the letter floating back into his hands. “This will be so fun!”

Eleonora shook her head as Hermes began to protest again, her eyes drifting over to the Daily Prophet. It was at least a month or so old, she didn’t like to read it simply because it was usually full of rubbish, but seeing Viktor and Hermione along with the other two pairs made her smile. Viktor had already told her that he and his partner had dominated the first challenge.

“Look at him, he’s so pale!” she cried. “That damn Norwegian winter. He looks terrible!”

Hermes sighed as Hippolyta fluttered away to summon her mannequin.

“I should clarify, “ Eleonora said at Hermes’ distraught face. “Hippolyta makes gowns as a hobby. She has no real need to do so but charges people who are incredibly annoying. She can tell by the spell’s reaction.”

Hippolyta’s gown making talents were something that required a lot of empathy. Each gown was made to fit the person it was made for, their personality and temperaments, she’d go as so far as to say their heart and soul too. She was waiting for the day she could make Viktor’s dress robes rather than simply maintaining the ones ordained by his school, but she felt it in her blood, the tug of Hermione’s personality and temperament, images and designs flowing through her mind as her quill went to take them down and she maneuvered things around. 

Hermes and Eleonora talked as Hippolyta busied herself with getting things together, taking not of Hermione's measurements. The young woman would be dangerous in just a few years. Fabric flew around and somewhere in between her first wand stroke, someone else came in.

"Hippolyta!"

"Take a seat, I'll be with you in a moment."

The woman huffed, "I don't have time to wait! My daughter could be going to the ball with Viktor Krum!"

"Doubt it," Eleonora said.

She whirled looking at her, "And what would you know about it?"

"Since he's my grandson? An awful lot."

The woman paled and turned back to Hippolyta who was still going through her fabrics.

“Hippolyta,” she started. “This is important.”

Hippolyta looked up, “You have something of hers?”

She produced a bracelet and at first touch, Hippolyta winced.

“I see...Well, if you could come back in an hour or so, we can speak then.”

She handed it back and the woman thanked her, bustling out, robes and all.

“You know her?” Hermes asked.

Eleonora rolled her eyes, “The mother of one of those pureblood star-struck twits my daughter-in-law is trying to foist onto Viktor. It won’t work. I’m pretty sure Viktor lost all ability to yield to her when he turned seventeen... if not earlier.”

“With good reason,” Hippolyta said shivering. “Bleck, charging her extra for the rush job and the rudeness.”

“She’ll pay it too,” Eleonora said. “That woman has been drooling to get into the Krum family for ages.”

“What’s a pureblood?” Hermes asked eating a piece of baklava.

Eleonora smiled, “I see Hermione hasn’t exactly told you all the details…”

Hippolyta smiled at the two of them, watching them converse. It was good to see the light returned to her eyes. She had Viktor and many other grandchildren, but they were all grown up now and the woman was particularly lonely, ostracized from her children who believed she was too liberal in her views as a pureblood. 

She let them talk and went about looking through her collection of fabrics again, letting her instincts guide her. Sometimes, she had flashes of a person’s memories if they had enough magic. Hermione, like Viktor, had had more than enough magic to send her down a little trip down their memory lanes. 

She stopped, her quill stopped and turned to her revealing a beautiful chiton. Etched neatly, cleanly as if there had been no hesitation… and incredibly new age Greek. She loved it and made the image turn to see the back of it with approval. The cape would hang, looping low so her back would be exposed, looped on her wrists, but the cape would be so light she wouldn’t notice. A delicate rope to hold the dress to her form… She would look beautiful, a vision straight out of antiquity...

A goddess of the night turning into dawn...

“It’s gorgeous,” she said with a smile. “What can you tell me about this boy?”

*

The woman returned an hour later to find Hermes and Eleonora gone. The discussion was short and the woman paid the price Hippolyta asked for the job.

“Was that truly his grandmother?”

Hippolyta laughed, “Eleonora Krum, the one and only.”

She swallowed, “Is she terribly upset?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about her,” Hippolyta said. “Viktor is his own man.”

“Quite, well I will be back at the appointed time.”

Hippolyta nodded seeing her off and laughing. It would be best to whip this gown together before returning to the very careful work she was putting into Hermione’s gown. It took all of half an hour to do it consider how very particular the woman was about styling it in the French fashion that suited her daughter more, blessed with the French figure after all. 

She set the box aside, marked and labeled before returning to Hermione’s gown, still more a picture on the page and some selected fabrics, the thinnest, finest Acromantula silk as gossamer as the wings of a snidget and as sturdy a dragon hide. The belt would be made of woven Goblin gold. She hadn’t heard Eleonora and Hermes return she was so focused on putting the gown together, piece by piece, coating the train with the faintest shimmer of the stars and a touch of moonlight. Athena was a goddess of owls, night hunters after all as well as warfare.  The cape and undergown would be the color of a warm dawn once the enchantments were activated. She would be the dawn and the night, the beginning and end and a vision if Hippolyta had anything to say about it. She turned for a moment to begin the shoes, sandals of course, of braided gold, Her hairpieces would match, the main being a golden owl in flight, a wizarding accessory. She selected a box long enough to pack it all up carefully, anti-wrinkling and protection spells over every stitch because people were vindictive and when she was satisfied she set the box on the counter, open to pack accessories. The woman returned as she was finished with Hermione’s gown and reached for the box she was packing.

“That one,” Hippolyta said pointing to the box wrapped at the side of her counter as Hippolyta continued to look through her collection of things and added things to the box, earrings, perfume meant to heighten the natural smell of the wearer. She turned the hanging straps of the gown to golden bands and settled them all together. She had to say that she was beyond proud of herself and could almost see her arriving at the ball like the light of daybreak and the dark of the night. 

Her date would be awestruck... The entire ball would be awestruck.

“It’s ready,” Hippolyta said to Hermes as the woman carried her box out. “Care to take a look?”

Eleonora, never one to need a second asking, got up and felt her heart stutter, “Well, if she didn’t have a tough time keeping the boys away from her, she certainly will now.”

Hermes laughed incredulously, “She would murder me if I took this for free, please--”

“No arguments,” Hippolyta said. “Call it a gift and don’t tell her. I can ship it with Viktor’s if you’d like it should arrive with plenty of time.”

Hermes nodded and asked for something to write with. She handed him a pen surprisingly. 

“Ink everywhere in a fabric shop is never a good idea.”

He nodded and took a breath before writing his letter and tying his own box of purchases to the box Hippolyta had, the note on top.

“Will it hold?”

She laughed looking at the knots, “If not, this will do the trick.”

She waved her wand over it and he watched the straps multiply. He let out a breath.

“Do you think it will be enough?”

Hippolyta hummed, “I think she will make the decision that’s best for her.”

He sighed and nodded, that was really all he could hope for and after trying to sneak her a satchel of galleons, she shooed him out of her shop and levitated the parcels towards the fireplace.

“Pictures will be payment enough.”


	16. Never Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry quotes Hermione at Hermione. Ron's still a git and Hermione gets a package that makes her ask if she could she be brave just one more time?

Her hands were still warm, a happy flood of chemicals in her brain when she came back from her session with Viktor. She felt honestly a little high off the feeling even though her stomach was churning uncontrollably. Her letters to Dragonheart still came and went with their normal ease, but as the clock kept ticking, the Yule Ball only a few days away, it was hard to avoid it any longer. 

At least she’d learned to dance. 

Viktor had been a gentle teacher, showing her all the niceties and gallantry of the ritual, warning her when he was going to lift her and soothing her fears. 

“Bulgarian boys are strong,” he said as she worried her lip at the thought of him lifting her. He did with an ease that astonished her and carried her in an arc before setting her down and taking her hand again. 

She didn’t know how long they spent dancing in between her trying to look at their feet, him telling her to stop it, and stepping on his feet. 

“You have tiny feet,” he said. “Mine will be fine. Relax and follow my lead, mila. I promise, I won’t lead you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

The oddity of the statement sparks something in her chest and she can see that he hadn’t meant to say it, though he’d meant it completely. 

“Will you accept his offer?” Viktor asked. 

“I don’t know,” she’d told him looking down as she stepped on his foot again. “I’ll never get the hang of this.”

He stopped her and looked down at her, “If you are worried about your dancing, it seems that you’ve already made up your mind.”

She stared up at him a moment, his kind smile and couldn't find anything to say to dispute that.

*

When they meet in their appointed room, Hermione throws herself into cracking the case of the egg and Viktor doesn’t push. They stand at the chalkboard writing out everything they know about the egg, everything they’ve read in the past weeks. Viktor pulls out his broom and lays across it, letting it make a slow loop around the classroom as Igor glared at the egg and the book in his lap.

Hermione sat quietly, staring at the egg and her notes, then back to the egg. The glyphs were clearly of a town but why? The latch was the face of an owl and feathers pointed out, or leaves perhaps. Inside the egg was screeching and what… 

Gel? Liquid.. Some sort of liquid. 

She frowned, getting up and tugging a large tome from her bag, flipping quickly as Viktor drifted up towards the rafter. 

His broom made slow circles through the room as he contemplated the details of the egg. Clearly, it was meant to be opened. He’d heard of mediums making a difference to certain kind of objects. Like the Erasian metal that could not touch water lest it fell to pieces…Perhaps it was the air? Then the medium of choice couldn’t be earth as it was full of air--

He sat up and they cried out together, “Merpeople!”

Viktor looked down at her and Hermione looked up so he came floating down to hover above the table upside down, hanging from his broom easily. 

“You must stay out of my mind.”

“As if I could get in,” she said. “It’s filled with wind currents.”

He laughed and looked at the page she was on. Ironically, it wasn’t Hogwarts: A History, but a book on the history of Beast classifications. Merpeople had missed their chance to designate their classification because they could not come above water to speak. The glyphs were at the bottom, the screeching...

Hermione transfigured a glass tank and together they filled it with water enough to set the egg inside and Viktor turned the latch. The light gleamed but there was no screeching. Viktor stepped up, dunking his head under water and listening.

_ Come seek us where our voices sound, _ _   
_ _ We cannot sing above the ground, _ _   
_ _ And while you're searching ponder this; _ _   
_ _ We've taken what you'll sorely miss, _ _   
_ _ An hour long you'll have to look, _ _   
_ _ And to recover what we took, _ _   
_ _ But past an hour, the prospect's black, _ _   
_ __ Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.

He came back up to Hermione’s careful drying spell over his head and shoulders and Igor’s eager face. 

“Well?”

“Chalk,” he said moving towards the board and erasing it with a wave of his wand to write out the sounds as much as he could as Hermione closed the egg and retrieved it from the water. 

Hermione pondered the words.

“Underwater for an hour?” Viktor asked. 

Hermione nodded, the Black Lake was huge and merpeople were known to live deep underwater. It could take a full hour to even reach the bottom, meaning he’d have to know exactly where he was going and if not be an exceptional swimmer.

“Again, you get points for preparation, skill, as well as completing the test and somehow I doubt they’ll take your broom.”

VIktor laughed if only that were the case. He had a million of them from multiple companies asking him to test them. She made a list of subjects and books, he’d need maps, topography, someone had to have tried to map the Black Lake at some point. They work for longer than she’d intended, but she didn’t have practice so they walked to the library instead to get some actual homework done. 

She hadn’t realized how nice it was to have someone sit at the table with her and not ask for help but to share in conversation. She ends up finishing her homework and her other assignments about the same time he did. Being ever the gentleman, he walked her to the portrait before kissing her hand and turning to leave. 

“Hey,” she called out. He turned and looked at her. 

“Thanks,” she said barely a whisper of Greek in the air. “For… everything… I don’t think I could explain how nice it is.”

Viktor smiled, slow and handsome, “You’re welcome, Hermione.”

He bowed again and left down the corridor, leaving her to ponder the exchange before giving the curious Fat Lady the password and heading into the tower. Ron and Harry were settled at the table in the Common Room pouring over parchment. 

“Hermione!” Ron said. “Thank goodness! We thought you’d never get here! Could you--”

“Ron!” Harry said with a hiss. “Can’t you lay off?”

Ron glowered at her, “What are you talking about? She likes to read, why  _ wouldn’t _ I ask her?”

Harry sighed shaking his head and then looking at Hermione who gave them both rueful looks. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” she said. “What is it, Ron?”

*

“Same pairs as before everyone, no fooling around!” Minerva said and already Hermione could hear the gripping, the snickering as she took a deep breath and walked up to Harry. 

“Don’t listen to them, ‘Mione; it’ll be fine.”

She nodded, taking his hand and setting a hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t as tall as Viktor, nor as broad,... nor as graceful, but she found herself a little more settled than times before as the music began. Harry beamed at her. 

“See, much better.”

“I had a great teacher,” she said with a smile. 

“Are you going with Dragonheart?” Harry asked. 

Hermione swallowed as they stepped into a turn. “I… haven’t answered.”

“‘Mione!” She flinched at his tone. “The Yule Ball is in two days, you’ll give him a heart attack.”

“I don’t have robes.”

“I will take you to Hogsmeade,” he said. 

“My hair--”

“Ginny, Faye, and Helena have already said they would help…They even got Padma and Lavender out of your room to prep… however long it takes you to do so.”

Hermione glowered at him, “If I didn’t know better Harry Potter, I would say that you’re scheming.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You’ve been writing this guy for four years, it’s obvious you want to go, so what’s holding you back?”

Hermione swallowed, “Harry…”

Harry regarded her, as they waltzed around the other pairs. He didn’t even both to try and lift her as they knew it would end badly-- they’d be better off letting Hermione lift him.

“You know a good friend told me once that being brave was being okay with being always on the outside,” he said. 

She glowered at him, “What else did this good friend tell you?”

“That anyone who can’t accept you as you are is an idiot.”

Hermione looked at him petulantly. 

“Go with him, ‘Mione. You’ll regret not meeting him.”

She groaned, “You know how much I hate regret.”

“And not knowing and…”

“I got it,” she said. “What about you? Found a date yet?”

He nodded, “I’m going with Luna.”

She grinned, “Good choice, you definitely won’t be bored.”

Harry nodded, “Neville’s taking Ginny.”

“Yeah and Ron?”

Harry winced with a shrug, “I’m not sure. We can ask in Study Hall.”

Hermione nodded and somehow they got through the class without incident. 

*

“Hermione!” Faye called coming down the stairs. “You have mail~!”

She tilted her head, “Mail?”

She looked at the boys, setting her bag down beside Harry and told them that she’d be back. Harry eyed her and as soon as she was gone Ron groaned. 

“What am I going to do Harry?”

Harry shrugged, “Ask someone?”

Ron glowered at him. Of course, Harry would say that, he’d probably had no problems asking someone to the ball.

*

Hermione walked up the stairs where Faye, Helena, and Ginny had converged to see what was in the box that had appeared on her bed earlier that day.

“Could I ask what you’re waiting for?”

“You to open the box!” Helena said. “They’re dress robes aren’t they?”

“A gift from your Dragonheart?” Faye teased.

Hermione scoffed and pulled the note free from the top. 

_ Dear Mia,  _

_ Let it never be said that this old man doesn’t know when he’s out of his depths and praise be to Gaia for fixing Eleonora on the path because it would be quite impossible to get you wizarding dress robes without being a wizard. Eleonora, who would have known?  _

_ She says that since she couldn’t dress her own grandson, she’d dress you and I tell you she and her friend, Hippolyta (lovely woman), had a great time for it. Along with the robes are a few other things that should make it easier.  _

_ Be brave, Mia.  _

She swallowed, folding the letter and taking a seat and then looking at the box. 

_ Be brave, Mia, _ he’d said, probably giving her full armor to wear. 

She let out a breath and summoned a quill and the last letter Dragonheart had sent her.

Faye, Helena, and Ginny looked at one another, then to Hermione’s bent head as she wrote. She stopped for a moment to undo some of the straps and sliding the boxes apart to take a peek into the larger box before closing it and returning to writing. 

“Not even a peek?” Faye asked with a pout, pleading.

Hermione closed her eyes and waved her hand over the letter sending it to wherever Dragonheart was. 

“Tonight,” she promised helplessly. “I just… need a moment.”

Helena nudged her, “No worries and no need to rush.”

“It’s just rather exciting,” Faye said flopping onto her bed. “Romantic and all that.”

Hermione nodded and got up to settle her parcels in her trunk then head back down stairs, Crookshanks followed after her. She took a seat beside Harry and picked up where she left off.


	17. I Don’t Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yule Ball...
> 
> It's now or never.

_ As I write this, my hands are shaking. I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. I’m so very nervous, terrified really, but one of my best friends reminded me that quite honestly I hate regret and not knowing more.  _

_ So, yes, I will meet you. Yes, I will go to the Yule Ball with you if you have not already found a date during my stalling. _

Viktor heard himself let out a yell of triumph, nearly falling off his broom and into the Black Lake. He steadied himself and sat up reading on. 

_ I will meet you before the ball at a quarter till by the grand staircase.  _

_ Dragonheart, if this is some cruel joke or if at any moment you have a doubt about whether or not you can deal with meeting me for exactly who I am, please tell me. I would rather never know then have to pick up those pieces. _

Viktor’s eyes softened, his hands shook and he licked his lips. He could almost hear the tremor in her voice, feel her anxiety on the page. Lifting his wand, he wrote his reply with the edge of it, enchanted it, and sent it. 

Hermione got it as she was climbing into bed, from the dampness of the paper she could tell that he was flying when he got it. She opened it carefully and was granted with his writing. 

_ I will meet you as you are so long as you give me the same courtesy. I will wait for you. _

She smiled and watched the paper fold in on itself until it blossomed into a rose. She smiled and lifted it, setting in between the pages of her latest book, a book of potions for Healers. It bloomed prettily in its parchment way from the top of the book, giving her something lovely to look at as she--

“Oh no, you don’t, madam!”

She sat up at Faye’s cry of indignation to see her, Ginny and Helena at the foot of her bed. 

“Parchment flower or not, let’s see it then.”

She laughed and got up, moving to her trunk under their watchful eye. She opened it and pulled out the boxes and proceeded to open them as promised. The smaller box was filled with a few bottles of Sleekeazy’s potion, magic curlers, bathing oils and things like that. She smiled at the bottle of oil that smelled like home. Some of it was from her mother, some of it purchased in Greece by her grandfather. 

The large box held the gown. She’d looked at it long enough to know that it was in a very Greek style. She had not looked closer to see exactly  _ how _ Greek it all was accented with rich woven gold and so gossamer thin she could hardly feel the fabric. Colors of dawn in the fabric they seemed to move… enchanted it seemed with shooting stars crossing the darkness.

“Acromantula silk,” Faye said. “Where’d you get a gown like that?”

She shrugged, “My pappous sent it to me-- my grandfather.”

“I thought he was a muggle.”

“He is,” she said. “But apparently his best friend is a witch.”

They nodded looking at it. It was Helena who pointed at the emblem on the box. 

“Hippolyta’s Girdle?” She asked. “I know her. Mum said she makes wonderful gowns but they’re terribly expensive for the most part.”

“Acromantula silk isn’t exactly easy to get,” Faye said. “You’ll look like you stepped right out of antiquity.”

“I think that’s the point,” she said, looking at the shoes and accessories that came with it. The sandals were gorgeous like the dust of the universe crafted to fit her feet.

At the very least, he wouldn’t be able to miss her…. 

A Greek goddess indeed. 

*

Viktor pulled his robes out the box as soon as they arrived. Though Hippolyta was known to have the strongest anti-wrinkle spells in the fashion world, it was a habit not so easily broken. He hung them up and grabbed his books. Tomorrow evening he would meet her. 

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, at once so close and so far away.

He shook his head and headed out, trying to get through his classes, sending her notes in between classes. 

“Are you nervous?” Vlad teased as they headed to study hall, soothing in the familiarity of Russian over his senses and blotting out the sound of giggling behind him. “Your Grecian Goddess will be in your arms in only a day.”

“My heart is going to beat out of my chest.”

“Her-my-own-knee!”Someone called out from behind him and he turned to see Hermione looking up from her book and greeting Wolfgang and asking her for help on something, opening his book to show her where his questions came from. He watched them interested and realizing that she spoke German too. 

“Smart girl,” Vlad said. “Wolfgang, I’m sure appreciates it.”

Viktor nodded watching them trade high fives and Wolfgang hugging her tightly before running off. She laughed, shaking her head and headed into her study hall as they headed towards their own. 

She walked up to Harry and Ron and took a seat. 

“Hello you two,” she greeted pulling out her notebook and setting her open book down. Harry’s eyes narrowed on the parchment rose, keeping her page and looked around Ron’s back to give Hermione a meaningful look. 

She nodded and he grinned. 

“‘Mione, could you help me?” Ron asked. “What’s Muddlefoot?”

“Myrtle root,” she corrected and flipped the page in the potions textbook to the entry.

“Yeah, but what is it?”

“Read, Ron,” she said. “I’m not here to give you all the answers.”

Harry shook his head as Ron grumbled and went about reading before giving up. 

“I can’t concentrate,” he huffed. “I still don’t have a date and the dance is tomorrow…”

Fred snorted, “Better hurry up and hope there’s a good one left.”

Hermione raised a threatening eyebrow at Fred who promptly shut up and went back to work. Hermione looked down as a note appeared, barely a scrap of parchment. She smiled and lifted it. 

_ My grandmother sent my robes to her favorite robemaker, I’ve never seen them so red. I’m sure no matter what it won’t clash, I’ll be too awed by having you on my arm. _

“Wait… Hermione… you’re a girl.”

Harry would have rather hurtle to the ground and break his leg again than be next to Ron when he’d said it.

“Well spotted,” she said with just enough edge to make Fred and George dutifully look at their books as Severus smacked Ron over the head, prompting him to look back at his book. Hermione slid her note into her pocket and turned back to reviewing her work.

“I mean, it’s one thing for a bloke to go alone, but for a girl, it’s just pathetic.”

Harry let out an audible groan and put his head down. As Hermione looked at Ron, her eyebrow lifted and generally looking about a second away from telling him to sod off. But she didn’t, she closed her book, took a final look at her finished assignment for Snape and closed the notebook before standing. 

“For future reference, Ron, I only attend this study hall and stay as long as I do because I like to spend time with you and Harry. In an effort not to strangle you, I’ll find some other way to see Harry for at least the next month. Do not ask my help for anything.”

She walked up and turned in her assignment before returning to grab her things. 

“And, I won’t be going alone because believe it or not someone asked me without feeling the need to slyly insult me. As you can imagine, I said yes. Good luck with your exams.”

She turned then and sauntered out of the study hall. Ron blinked stunned as Harry raised his head and Fred and George snickered. 

“Harry,” he started. “She’s lying right?’

“If you say so,” Harry said shaking his head and continuing to write as Ron huffed and sighed, he still had to ask someone and when Severus smacked him over the head it was clear that he should hurry up and get this assignment on Myrtlewood done and move on. 

Hermione headed out to the courtyard and down towards the docks where some of the Durmstrang boys were. They greeted her friendly enough and cajoled her into sparring with them. She was still new to the fighting aspect, but she was far lighter on her feet than they were, leapfrogging over them with a laugh and generally tumbling out of their way. 

“Fancy moves,” one of them panted. “Like tumbling bird.”

She laughed, “Well, I can’t let you hit me.”

“Would never hit woman,” they said. “Is tag spar.”

She shook her head at their sweetness before it was about time for lunch and they headed inside. Viktor and Vlad were already there along with other familiar faces. 

“Sestra flies on land,” Pietro said as they sat down. “Together, two could take over world.”

Viktor laughed, “Cheaters never win.”

She huffed, “I am not a cheater!”

*

Saturday, she finds herself at Hogsmeade running around with a few of the Durmstrang boys, Helena and Faye as well. Ginny had opted to stay at the castle to try and finish some work. The boys excuse themselves to do some last minute shopping, and escort Faye and Helene on their trips, for the most part, leaving Hermione alone at the Three Broomsticks.

“Well, well Granger, without the usual entourage?”

She looked at Draco as he took the seat beside her.

“Hello Draco,” she said politely, drinking from her mug. “What brings you to come sit beside me? What is it that you want?”

“Why would I want anything from you?”

She tilted her head, “Why else would you be talking to me?”

He swallowed looking away from her gaze, “So what is it?”

Draco grit his teeth and let out a frustrated breath, “Since you’re more book than girl, what do you know about soulmates?”

“Only what I’ve read,” she said easily, amused. “Worried?”

“If you could keep your sass to yourself,” he said.

“Oh but Draco, between you pining after Harry and needing my help, how could I?”

Draco flushed, eyes wide as she regarded him, “W-What are you—”

“Come on then, Draco,” Hermione said looking at him. “You pull his pigtails more than you ever pulled mine… and you just generally don’t like Ron on principle.”

Draco glared at her but remained flushing and quiet. Hermione finished her mug and stood.

“Care to take a walk?”

Draco swallowed but followed her out and down a path away from prying ears.

“Alright Granger, what do you know?”

Hermione shrugged, “Depends. What is that you wanted to know?... And what’s in it for me?”

He scoffed, “The Princess of Gryffindor has such a Slytherin streak.”

“Queen,” she corrected. “Or so I’m told. Out with it, Draco.”

He growled, gritting his teeth, “I… I have these… visions.”

She somehow didn’t manage to smile as he went on about seeing himself through someone’s eyes, snippets of his childhood through Harry’s eyes. 

“My parents aren’t soul mates,” he said. “But… Severus… told me…”

“The signs?” She asked. Draco nodded looking at her, expecting her to laugh perhaps but she only smiled at him.

“Well… funny you should mention visions…Harry’s working on the theory that his soulmate is someone in Slytherin.”

Draco swallowed and then narrowed, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you two have been one closed door, or secluded hallway away from snogging each other for at least two years, if not longer.”

He swallowed looking away, “I thought he and Weasley.”

Hermione snorted, “Ron is firmly attached to his heterosexuality… and his ego for that matter.”

“Or you.”

“Harry’s my brother,” Hermione said honestly. “But just know if you hurt him I will hex you beyond recognition.”

“Save it for the strip, Granger.”

She laughed and turned, “I should get back, Yule Ball and all.”

He groaned, “Don’t remind me…”

“Pansy?”

“She wants us to  _ match _ ,” she snorted as they walked back towards the carriages. He opened the door for her as if it was a completely natural thing.

“Why Draco, I didn’t know you could be a gentlemen,” she teased, climbing in.

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled.

She took a seat and regarded him as he closed the door, sighing and relaxing. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him like this, neither had Harry she was sure.

“Perhaps…I misjudged you Draco… not that you made it easy to do anything but.”

Draco looked at her across the carriage as she smirked at him, “The great Draco Malfoy without his Slytherin air could actually be a nice person.”

Draco blinked, but as the carriage stopped, he couldn’t say anything. She climbed out and waved him goodbye, leaving him to contemplate her words, the turn of events and the like before getting out of the carriage just as Harry caught up with her, slinging an arm around her shoulders and walking into the castle with her. For a moment, he sees her shoes and Harry’s, sees the castle much closer than it actually is and it makes his stomach twist. What would his father think?

*

Harry parted from her at Gryffindor tower having to go do one more thing. She walked in to see Ron on the couch looking smug as he fiddled with his box. 

“Hello, Ron.”

“Hello,” he said. “I’ll have you know I have a date already.”

“Well that’s great,” she said nodding at him and heading away. Ron’s expression dropped.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask who?”

Hermione shrugged, “If you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

“Padma,” he said. “I’m taking Padma.”

Hermione nodded, “That’s great.”

“Well… who are you going with?” He asked looking at her. “Do you even have dress robes?”

“My pappous sent them to me,” she said easily. “And I’m meeting Dragonheart.”

He scoffed, “Right… your imaginary boyfriend.”

A note appeared as he turned back to fiddling with his package. She opened it as Ginny came downstairs yelling with triumph.

“I’m done!”

“That’s good,” Hermione said.

Ginny looked at her, “We can get started at the appointed time.”

“Ginny, I think these are for you.”

They turned and Ginny winced, “I don’t think so, Mum already sent me my gown.”

“Ron,” Hermione said. “I think… those are your dress robes…”

Ron paled, shoving them back in the box and marching off to the boy’s side. Ginny winced, “Meet you upstairs later?”

Hermione nodded, “May I suggest a severing charm? Perhaps a few for color?”

She nodded and went after her brother. Ron looked at his robes, horrified.

“How can she do this to me, Ginny?” He asked. “What are these? I bet Fred and George’s robes aren’t as horrid.”

“Ron! Did you get a package from Mum?”

He looked at his brothers coming in with their dress clothes over their arms.

“What is that?” Fred asked looking at the robes on Ron’s bed.

“From Mum, what are those?”

Fred and George looked at the black dress robes, “Our dress robes.”

“But-But…”

“We bought them,” Fred said. “Well rented them at least.”

“Glad for it too,” George said wincing. “Good luck mate.”

Ron huffed.

“Hermione suggested a severing charm and something for the color.”

He huffed, throwing them down, “Who cares what she suggested!?”

Ginny looked at him, rolled her eyes and left, heading back to the girl’s side of the dorm without any preamble. She met Hermione, Helena, and Faye in their room after collecting her own things and bringing them along.

It was probably the girliest bit of time that Ginny or Hermione had ever had. Ginny, growing up in a house full of boys, had never had many girlfriends. Hermione had never really had many friends. So when they chat about their dates, about the night ahead in between helping one another into their clothes, it’s beyond fun. They take the time to offer help to one another. Hermione declined, saying that they should probably help Ginny figure out the snaps on her gown. While Helene helped de-wrinkle Ginny’s gown, Hermione worked Sleekeazy’s through her thick curly hair in sections, using much more than was recommended, until the curls relaxed hanging much lower than she thought, closer to her hips than mid back. 

"That is a lot of hair..." Helena said eyeing it.

"The power of curls," Hermione said ruefully before opening the manicure and pedicure box and yelping as the pieces came flying out and set to work on her feet. 

"That's awesome," Faye remarked. "I didn't know they made those."

Hermione shrugged, continuing to fiddle with her hair and looking through the rest of the box and freezing as the rollers rose from the box above her head. Faye and Helena laughed as they came flying around her head, a brush and comb parting her hair and rolling them in long spirals.

"Looks like your grandfather thought of everything."

Hermione glowered as they laughed. Helena took charge of Ginny's makeup and Hermione was beginning to be incredibly wary of any of the other boxes that had come. 

"That one is makeup,  perfect lines every time," Helena said as Hermione pondered the box. "But seriously, where did your grandfather get all of this?"

She had no idea but opened the box slowly. It wasn’t a full on attack, but she did feel oddly still while holding the box in her hand. 

"Petrifying spell," Helena said. "Makes it easier."

They watched as the pencils and palette set to work. It was tasteful and truly the straightest lines they'd ever seen casting a light shimmer over her eyes. She remained a little startled in her bathrobe, her skin soft and shiny from the oil, glowing from the bath. It isn't much makeup, but she can hardly recognize herself.

Helena slid into her robes, a classically English style. Faye and Ginny were rather classically English too and it dawned on her that she would definitely stick out like a sore thumb.

Then again, she always stuck out like a sore thumb, so nothing new there and it would make it easier for her to be found. Ginny went to go meet Neville as the rollers began to unravel. Leaving glossy curls in their wake, she took a deep breath regarding herself in the mirror. The underwear that had come with the gown were so dainty she’d been terrified of ripping them while putting them on. Somehow, she’d managed and was now letting a bottle of perfume spritz her as Helena called out that she had to get going. 

“See you there!”

Faye slid on the rest of her things, checked for her wand and then turned to Hermione who sat on the edge of her bed, lacing her sandals up her calves, gold and stardust complimenting her complexion. She pulled out the owl curiously and watch it spring to life, open its wings and fly, carrying a string of gold and glowing jewels to corral her hair in something like a sphendone style that left enough of her hair free in curls down her back. Faye sat patiently as her official steward before the ball and watched Hermione lift the stylish chiton out and slip it on. The woven gold wrapped around her waist, the pins on each shoulder settled. The main part of the gown was close fitting, accentuating the curve of her in its length, the cloak was so thin that it looked like nothing more than a cloak of dawn attached to her upper arm and hands by delicate gold bands. Hermione turned to face herself not sure what she was seeing. The hairpiece had been made of owls, the colors of dawn, yet she thought Aphrodite. 

“This… must be a well-cut gown… I’m pretty sure that isn’t me.”

Faye snorted, “Sweetheart, the gown  _ wraps _ around you, that’s all you.”

She nudged her and Faye turned, “Shall we go and greet your subjects?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed her wand. Most of Gryffindor was already gone so they walked pretty much alone. 

“Deep breath,” Faye said. “Shoulders back and try to smile?”

Hermione let out a breath, “I am trying.”

*

“Viktor.”

He whirled to see Vlad and Pietro coming towards him, Ivan and Boris just behind him.

“Your Greek Goddess has not arrived yet?”

Viktor nodded, “Not yet.”

Pietro pat his shoulder, “Relax Viktor, she will be here.”

“Viktor!” He almost groaned turning to regard Igor, hauling three girls with him. 

“Yes?” He asked patiently. 

Igor introduced the girls and then told him in no uncertain terms to “pick.”

Viktor gave him a hard look, “I already have a date.”

Igor’s eyes narrowed, “Then where is she?”

“Coming,” he gritted out and turning, the last letter they’d exchanged in his hand, his heart beating too fast to breathe. 

He saw Harry and Ron coming down the stairs. 

“Probably crying her eyes out.”

“Who?” Harry asked distractedly, scanning the crowd for Luna. 

“Hermione of course,” Ron said. 

“What for?” Harry asked looking at him strangely.

“Because her bloody paper boyfriend probably didn’t ask her… I would have taken her myself if she weren’t so bloody proud.”

Harry scoffed and shook his head. He saw Luna as they reached the bottom steps. Viktor farther away as Padma arrived and winced at Ron’s robes. He’d taken Hermione’s advice and used a severing charm to get the lace off, but he was no good with color charm or transfiguration so it did little to help. 

“I’ll see you inside, Harry.”

He nodded greeting Luna who smiled at him. 

“He is a rather odd person, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Ron,” she said. “I haven’t ever seen anyone so blind.”

Harry laughed, waiting as Minerva arrived to corral all of the champions and their dates. Igor and Viktor arguing in low angry Russian as Faye came down the steps… without Hermione. She was beaming, though.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked. 

“Just you watch,” she said proudly, waving at Pietro who came to bow and take her hand.

“ _ Choose _ ,” Igor hissed. “ _ Or I will choose for you. _ ”

Viktor bared his teeth, careful of the parchment in his hands, “ _ I have no need for your help, High Master, nor that of my parents. I have a date. _ ”

Hermione stood with her back to the wall, steeling herself to step out before taking a quick peek. In a flash, she saw a collection of Durmstrang red robes, Minerva, Luna, Harry…

_ Be brave, _ she said.  _ Deep breath, shoulders back… _

Greet the subjects. 

Meanwhile, Igor turned to the blond and told her that she would be accompanying Viktor just as Viktor was prepared to hex the man where he stood. Ivan tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes?” Viktor gritted.

“Greek Goddess,” he said a little breathless.


	18. On the Edge of Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greek Goddess has some things to say and Harry has some truths to confront.

Hermione stood at the top of the stairs, looking down and letting her eyes flicker across the group of Durmstrang students, smiling even as her stomach flipped and her heart hammered. She set her hand out to the banister, descending slowly and praying that one of them would stop staring and come to her. 

_ Please, _ she pleaded to the universe. Someone, anyone just tell her that four years of trust wouldn’t be shattered right now. She didn’t know if she could pick up the pieces. No, she knew she wouldn’t be able to carry on as if nothing happened. As if it was all okay, it could very well destroy her.

_ Someone,  _ she thought looking at the group.  _ Anyone. _

It was Viktor, a piece of parchment in his hands, his eyes dazed and so focused that he didn’t even turn back when Igor hissed at him. Igor’s hand slipped from his shoulder as he moved, not hearing or seeing anything beyond her, this… Hermione flashing through his memories wrapped in sheets, in thin Grecian silk, Egyptian cotton, dead, alive…

She was so beautiful. So...

Hermione’s hands shook as he approached staring at her, struggling for breath. Somehow, she managed one bracing for the pain, the betrayal, the crash...

“Hello Viktor,” she said. “I’m… going to take it that my date isn’t here?”

Viktor stared at her, taking in the sight of her before offering the parchment, “Actually… I am your date, Biblio-logical.”

She swallowed and her eyes widened, “What?”

“I’m Dragonheart,” he said breathless, his Greek almost slurred, drunk on the sight of her as he offered her the parchment in his hands. 

It had been her letter and all of the subsequent notes they’d passed. Hermione swallowed, her eyes flickering behind him to Igor’s angry face, the shocked expressions of the Durmstrang students. This had to be--

_ Viktor Krum? _ She thought. Charming, handsome, famous, talented Viktor Krum was her Dragonheart. She stepped back to retreat but froze at the pained, desperate sound he made, his dark eyes meeting hers as he bowed to her, offering his hand to her.

“I would be a fool not to love you,” he said extending his hand. 

Hermione swallowed looking at his hand, his eyes steady on her. 

“Trust me, mila,” he said softly. “ _ Please trust me. _ ”

_ Trust me, _ his voice echoed in her mind, a flash of a vision, his voice in her ear. She found herself extending her hand from the banister to place in his. They breathed out, something like relief before laughing a bit at the rush of warmth coming fromt heir touching hands. Their eyes met again, smiles on their lips.

“Hello Dragonheart,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

He smiled, “Hello, I’m Viktor Krum. It is an honor to meet you in person.”

She nodded letting him help her down the last step before turning, refusing to look away from her as he escorted her towards the line up with the other champions. There was a collection of sound, Durmstrang cheering that went up near the door before they headed inside with the rest of the attendants. She smiled and waved at Harry and Luna who looked shocked before heading inside. As was traditional, the champions would dance first. Viktor leaned into her, to whisper in her ear. 

“They were right to call you a goddess,” he said gently. 

She looked down, but continued to look forward as they opened the door and the clapping greeted them. Despite the heels, she kept up with him, falling into step with him. He stood straight for a change, perhaps wanting to be seen for a change… wanting to be seen with her. His feet didn’t shuffle across the floor, but were sure determined steps beside her, leading her into the hall.

* 

“Is that Hermione Granger? With Viktor Krum?”

“No, probably not,” Ron said. 

Draco let out a scoff of laughter, clapping as they passed. Let it never be said that he couldn’t appreciate fair turn-about. His eyes drifted to Harry who stood beside Luna on the others side of the aisle, looking exceedingly happy and… 

_ Gorgeous. _

Faye and Helena’s jaw dropped as she floated by, but it was a short lived shock before they were cheering and most of the other girls shut their mouths, glaring at Hermione as she passed. Durmstrang made the most noise per usual watching Viktor walk beside Hermione. 

Viktor had finally met his Grecian Goddess… and bonus points that she was as brilliant as they hoped she would be.

When they reached the dance floor, it feels like they’ve gone somewhere else. He placed a hand on her waist, cupping her hand in his gently and led her around the floor. She was smiling because he was smiling at her, a brilliant smile that burned away the dark expression he usually wore. His body relaxed and they shared a laugh as he lifted her and whirled her around, their cloaks flying out around them as they danced. 

“I thought you didn’t like dancing…”

“With you?” Viktor said. “It’s like flying.”

She let herself smile, following him around in the dance. It isn’t long before the feast begins and the Durmstrang boys fill the table, hugging her tightly, asking her questions. 

“You are Viktor’s Greek Goddess?” Pietro asked, as he settled Faye into her seat. “How could you not know?”

Hermione shrugged. It wasn’t as there was a shortage of people in the world, and potentially at Hogwarts, who spoke Greek. More importantly, they’d never seen each other’s dominant hand handwriting as Hermione completed her homework and things with her right hand and Viktor completed his with his left. They only wrote their letters with their dominant hands. She looked at Viktor who was only watching her, a warm sparkle in his eye. 

He’d found her.

Met her, she was here, this woman in his dreams he was sure, even though he couldn’t see her face. The warmth humming in his blood, his magic sparking beneath his skin told him all he needed to know. Hermione was his soulmate, she had to be.

“What?” Hermione asked with a laugh. 

“Nothing,” he whispered smiling at her. “Just… hard to comprehend it.”

They shared a look that left the rest of the table feeling as though they were intruding on a rather private moment, almost too intimate to witness. It breaks with Hermione being a tad embarrassed that they’re staring at one another as the food appeared. After dinner, they stood for pictures for the Daily Prophet and returned to the dance floor. 

“Hermione,” Harry greeted looking at her slyly. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and hugged him tightly, “Mark this in history, Harry Potter. You win.”

“I will,” he said with a grin before thrusting his hand forward to shake with Viktor. “Hello Viktor.”

Viktor shook his hand, “You are… Seeker friend yes?”

Harry blinked and looked at Hermione who beamed, “Uhm, yes. I suppose that’s me.”

“Hermione say much about you,” he said. 

“Good things I hope, I couldn’t take you in a  fight.”

Hermione laughed as Viktor grinned, “ All good things, promise. Like brother.”

Harry nodded, “Well, we are rather close….Where’s Ron now that I think about?”

“Probably eating his table,” Hermione said with a smile. Harry conceded that point as they chatted a little longer. Viktor offered Hermione to take a walk before returning for more dancing.

She nodded and wasn’t surprised when he removed his cloak for her, sliding it around her shoulders to walk with her out the main door and into the December cold. The fur lined cloak was incredibly warm against the chill as they walked in silence. He slid his fingers into hers, earning her shy smile as they walked down the corridor, watching the snow fall over the courtyard.

“I was nervous that you would not come,” Viktor said, squeezing her hand. “But still rather go alone than with anyone picked out for me.”

Hermione smiled, “I wouldn’t do that to you… We said to meet each other as we are.”

“Da,” he said. “I am glad to have had the courage to ask.”

“You?”

He laughed, drawing her to the side, “Surprisingly, I am still a teenaged boy shaking in my boots at the thought of asking a girl to a dance.”

Hermione smiled, “Me too… I don’t think I would have ever asked to meet you in person.”

“And now?” He asked.

She shook her head, “I feel a bit like a fool for being afraid.”

“Not a fool,” he said. “Human.”

He smiled, pulling her towards him, spinning her lightly to rock with her, comfortable to look at her as they waltzed to no music, chatting in the corridor. The wind whipped through the corridor, but his cloak and robes were warm enough that neither of them felt it. 

“Your dreams,” Viktor started. “How long have you had them?”

“Since I was little,” she said. “Before I came to Hogwarts...I had my first one when I visited Athena’s temple on a school field trip about four years old.”

Viktor nodded, he’d had his first one around then too. He’d dreamt of the colosseum and the gaze of a woman from the stands.

“You know that… nothing is certain until you turn seventeen?” Viktor asked and Hermione gave him a smile. 

“I do have several books on soulmates rattling around in my head now.”

“ _ Mila, _ ” he said softly, stopping them. “I… have already turned seventeen, but… I know that is some time for you. I--”

“You can’t make that decision for me,” Hermione said looking at him. “As noble as it is to try to do so.”

Viktor nodded his head, “That’s not what I meant. It’s your choice, of course. Always… I just want to be sure that you understand… what should happen if… if we are not… I know how much it has bothered you before.”

Hermione looked at him, seeing almost too much that it made his stomach flop before she smiled and slipped her arms around his waist, holding him tenderly and taking comfort in his solid form.

“For once, I don’t want a plan,” Hermione said. “Can’t we enjoy this for what it is?”

Viktor blinked.

“This year,” she started. “Our relationship… shouldn’t it be allow to… grow without planning simply because we have two years without constraint? There’s no reason to fret when we have no way of knowing.”

Viktor licked his lips, “That is… logical.”

She laughed then and he smiled at the sound before pulling back, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. We don’t even know if we’re even compatible… beyond letters.”

Viktor smirked, cupping her face and looking down at her, the shimmer on her otherwise colorless lips, her eyes shimmering with glittering dust on her eyelashes. She was a dream there, but there was no mistaking the way she looked at him, needy, carnal anticipation even if she didn’t fully understand it. 

“I believe that is a lie,” Viktor said softly, licking his lips  and leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

She whimpered, fisting her hands in his robes. He slid his hand forward until his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and she opened her mouth for him, to taste her. A sweetness to her mouth from dessert, the spark of magic in her blood and warmth. He pulled back slowly, hushing her whimpering and still her from chasing after for more. 

“I’m not sure how long I’ve dreamed about doing that,” he said.

“You didn’t even know what I looked like.”

“Does not matter, I know you,” he said and turned leading her back towards the party. “Will you allow me to court you?”

Hermione smiled at him and pressed closer to his side, “Should I give you a favor in acceptance?”

Viktor kissed her temple as she giggled, “A simple yes would suffice.”

“Da,” she said and watched as his eyes fluttered and his cheeks flushed. 

She hadn’t expected that as he looked at her with that too intense gaze again and licked his lips. 

“Come,” he said thickly, his Greek almost slurred at the end. “It’s a party, isn’t it?”

She nodded and followed him trying to figure it out, “You… like it when I speak Bulgarian.”

“I warned you, men have weaknesses for their native language.”

She licked her lips, storing that away for future reference as they walked in and headed toward the table they were assigned. Pietro called out to them as Professor Flitwick made the announcement of the band that would be taking over now that the formalities were out of the way. 

“ _ The band that needs no introductions!” _

Viktor grinned, pulling his cloak from her shoulders, throwing it over the back of a chair and taking her hands in his, coaxing her towards the crowd. 

“Viktor, I’m not really--”

“Party, mila, means dancing.” he chided, “Trust me.”

Hermione, against her more logical judgement let him pull her towards the floor. 

_ Shake your body like a hairy troll, learning to rock and roll... _

Ron slumped in his chair, Padma sat a few chairs away as he watched the group dancing to the Wyrd Sisters’ new song. He turned to talk to Harry, but remembered that Harry was on the dance floor with Luna, letting her teach him whatever strange dance she could. Ginny was out there too with Neville. His brothers… everyone. 

_ Ruddy pumpkin head, _ he thought glaring at Viktor dancing with Hermione, spinning her around, rocking with her as if they’d known each other for years. 

Viktor Krum dancing with Hermione Granger--what a thought. He thought she was supposed to be going with her ruddy paper boyfriend, or not at all… but there  she was being whirled around in that gown that made her look… 

His fist tightened watching them laugh, jealousy burning in his chest, turning into seething as he watched. She looked so damn  _ happy _ and he looked just the same, grinning down at her and mirroring each other’s dance moves, twining their fingers together at times and moving to the rhythm of the song, sometimes following the lyrical instructions, sometimes not. 

He wanted to wring his thick, ruddy Bulgarian neck and hex him and his broom to high heaven. He pulled her close, directing her in a dance that she seemed to be far more familiar with than the sporadic jumping around everyone else seemed to be doing. He hoped her make-up melted off. Hoped, Viktor did what he wanted with her and then tossed her away, it would serve her right. 

“Hey Ron!” Harry greeted, a little breathless as he collapsed into the chair beside him and Padma stood to escape her terrible date.

“Why aren’t you out there?”

“Not much of a dancer,” he said between his teeth still glaring at Hermione and Viktor. They looked so damned happy, he  _ hated _ it. She’d only just met Viktor, she didn’t even like Quidditch yet they seemed to be having the time of their lives! He’d known Hermione for four years. He couldn’t believe that she’d… 

It was a ploy, he thought looking at Harry. 

“Ron?” Harry asked. “You okay?”

“How long Harry?”

“How long what?”

“How long before Viktor ditches her?” Ron asked. “She’s not fooling anyone.”

Harry looked at him strangely and then back to the couple who seemed far more interested in making fools of themselves together and working up a sweat on the dancefloor than stopping.

“Erm… I’m not sure what you meant.”

“She said she was going with her paper boyfriend, but she shows up with Viktor?”

“Did it ever cross your mind that perhaps Dragonheart is Viktor?”

“What’s an international Quidditch  _ star _ doing writing a girl five years younger than him?”

“It’s three,” Harry corrected. “He’s only a seventh year.”

“Like that makes a difference. He’s too old for her!”

“And you’re…”

“Nevermind about me.”

Harry nodded understanding what this was about even if Ron hadn’t quite caught up to what he’d admitted. He highly doubted that Ron’s objections to their relationship had anything to do with their age difference. Luna shrugged and excused herself to talk to someone as Harry shook his head. 

“Here it comes.”

Harry looked up seeing Hermione and Viktor breaking away from the crowd. Viktor laughed, spinning her around one last time before twining their fingers together. Harry can’t understand what their saying, but he knows when she threw her head back and laughed that it’s a joke. 

Viktor turned, pressed a kiss to her hand and headed towards the refreshment table leaving her standing there. She spun around towards them, her gossamer cape floating along as she turned and headed to sit beside Harry, panting. 

“Hot, isn’t it?”

Harry laughed, he’d already shrugged out of his outer robe, wearing the shirt, tie, and vest now. 

“A bit.”

“Viktor’s gone to get drinks, would you like to join us?” She asked, her eyes sparkling with a light Harry hadn’t ever seen before. 

“I--”

“No,” Ron cut in. “We would not like to join you and  _ Viktor _ .”

Hermione blinked, an eyebrow lifted and tilting her head, “What’s got your wand in a knot?”

He sneered at her, “He’s a  _ Durmstrang _ . Assistant or not--you’re fraternizing with the enemy.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “You just can’t stand to see anyone happy when you’re miserable.”

Harry winced, “Erm--”

“ _ Happy? _ All that giggling and smiling? Dressed up for him did you? I thought you weren’t a fame-chaser.”

“Viktor and I were friends first. We’ve been trading letters for years without knowing--”

“Friends,” Ron sneered. “He’s got a bit more than friendship on his mind.”

“Ron!” Harry burst out, “What is--”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermione said placing a hand on his arm before looking at Ron who wouldn’t even look at her, glaring ahead. 

“I’m going to enjoy the rest of my evening,” she said standing. “When you decide to stop being an arse, you’re still welcome to join us.”

Harry watched her walk off before looking at Ron, “What was that?”

“Oh shut up, Harry.”

Harry sighed and shook his head, standing and leaving Ron to stew in his rage. He waved at Hermione and Viktor on his way out, then told Luna that he was stepping out for some air. He shook his head not understanding what the hell was Ron’s problem. He had no one to blame for Hermione going to the ball with anyone else but himself. He should have just asked her. 

“Potter.”

He turned seeing Draco leaning against the wall, in just his shirt, vest and tie, blonde hair styled loosely. There was something he couldn’t place in his eyes, but Harry didn’t let that stop him.

“Malfoy,” he said and continued on, trying not to let his nervousness betray him. That feeling had been getting stronger as of late, the pull and need...

“Lost?” Draco asked.

He rolled his eyes, “Skulking?”

Draco glared at him, “Escaping the racket actually.”

“Right, well continue that.”

Draco waited, trying to hold himself still, but he just--

It happens so fast that Harry isn’t sure what it is, shooting through him, like lightning. The feeling of Draco’s hand around his wrist, pulling him around and slamming him into the stone wall. He panicked, reaching for his wand, but Draco is faster, probably from being on the dueling team and training with Severus. He opened the classroom door, a silencing ward over it and a warning ward, and closed it behind them, shoving him to the ground and climbing on top of him. 

“Dra--”

Draco swallowed the rest of his name, hands in Harry’s messy brown hair, he pulled Harry’s glasses off, forcing their lips together, his tongue into his mouth and holding him still. Draco expects to be hexed, to be pushed off, but he can’t control himself, the way the meeting of their skin feels like lightning and pleasure rushing through him all at once. He’s drunk with it, desperate for more no matter what Harry plans to do to him when he manages to get him off. 

Harry tastes so  _ good _ , he isn’t sure what to do but draw his mouth away and mouth along his jawline, to his neck until Harry’s body jerked and he cried out, his hips tilting against Draco’s thigh with a needy moan. Consequences be damned, he was going to do this, he’d denied himself enough, this wasn’t going to be one of those things. Even if it never happened beyond this, even if nothing more happened, he’d hold this when the pain of a love-less marriage was too much, think about this while he fucked some faceless woman for the sake of the Malfoy line. 

He’d do it if he could just have this one night. 

Harry fell apart, rocking up against the hard ridge of Draco’s thigh, squirming as Draco fisted his hair and grinded down against him, taking his mouth with each thrust of his hips and drinking in Harry’s pleasure. 

“Draco--”

“Shut up,” Draco barked, fiddling with Harry’s belt. “Just shut up and--”

Harry cried out as Draco’s hand slipped into his underwear, grasping him firmly. Draco tugged his head back to kiss him, smothering his cries with strokes of his tongue.

“Draco--”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Draco--”

“Shut it!” Draco said, pressing a hand over his mouth, grinding against Harry’s thigh harder, a band of Quidditch trained steel providing him with just enough friction to make his mind go hazy with pleasure as he jerked Harry off in his underwear. Bright green eyes looked at him helplessly, asking questions he had no answer for until he had to close his eyes against the onslaught and Harry screamed, body arching hard against him and pleasure rushed over them, crashing down hard and heavy. Draco slumped against him, panting, pinning Harry down as they both came back from it.

Harry lay still, panting, trembling as Draco moved, getting off him so he could breathe. He hears Draco trying to clean him up, sees him lick at the sticky mess on his hand and repair Harry’s glasses before placing them back on his face and sitting him up, cleaning off his vest, buckling his belt, generally putting him back together before looking at him meaningfully. 

Harry’s jaw trembled looking at Draco confused and shaky while Draco tries to say something, tries to think beyond the taste of Harry on his tongue and how much more he wants. 

“Harry--”

He flinched, something pulled him to his feet, shooting up, grabbing his wand and rushing from the room leaving Draco kneeling in the classroom alone. His fist closed tightly and he swallowed, getting up slowly, not even bothering to right his clothing before heading towards Severus’s chambers. He opened the door and sat on the floor in front of the fire, head on his knees.

He gasped at the first hot wet tear on his cheek and wiped at it furiously. And the next and the next, until he just couldn’t anymore, holding his head in his hands and trying to figure out what the hell he was crying about, gross pitiful sobbing as the last four years crashed down on him, the horror and terror. He didn’t want to live the life his parents lived. Didn’t want to be in a loveless marriage. Didn’t want to be the Slytherin prince for another second. It had never made him happy, but it had made Lucius happy and eventually… nothing made Lucius happy. Nothing kept the words and pain away… nothing kept him from running to Severus for something like sympathy. 

Draco lay down, pressing his head to the cold stone floor and letting the tears come. No one but Severus would find him here like this. No one would ever see this Draco. Harry ran himself right back into the ball only to find Hermione and Ron outside the Great Hall. 

“That’s what you think?” Hermione asked incredulously. 

“Yeah, that’s what I think.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting anyone so  _ arrogant _ . The world does not revolved around you, Ron.”

“I never said it did!”

“If you were going to be so torn up about my actually having a date, perhaps you should have done a bit of better job asking me,” Hermione said he opened his mouth and she raised her hand. “Insulting me does not count. Tormenting me when it was obvious how much I agonized over it is  _ not _ how you ask anyone to a ball. Friend or not.”

“As if I would ever want to go with you! You’re completely mental! And when he figures that out don’t come crying because all I have to say is  _ I told you so. _ ”

Hermione’s jaw snapped shut as Harry moved closer to them. 

“I am not mental,” she said evenly.

Ron huffed, “Yes, you are! Absolutely off your rocker if you think for one moment that I would ever want to go to anything with you! I don’t care if you snog Krum senseless. I don’t care if your imaginary boyfriend dumps you as soon as he figures out what a headcase you are.”

Viktor walked away from Igor, ignoring his hissing Russian and headed to the chair where he’d left his cloak. He grabbed it and looked around. Hermione had been there just a moment ago, she wouldn’t have left without telling him. He had a sinking feeling in his chest a sadness and despair that was all but crushing, but wasn’t his.

“... You’re completely mental!”

Viktor turned at the voice, locking on to where the red head, Ron, stood glaring down at Hermione. He turned hurrying across the Hall towards them, ignoring someone, dodging around a couple and trying to remind himself not to break Ron’s face.

“You just can’t stand the idea that I’m  _ happy _ ,” Hermione said. “You’re a jealous, selfish git who never has any sight beyond his own repressed emotions! Viktor has been nothing but kind to me on paper, in person which is something far more than I can say for you, Ronald! This isn’t about Viktor so stop using him as an excuse. Just admit that you’re angry because you didn’t think I could get a date, because you think so low of me when it isn’t related to class that you couldn’t even  _ think _ that someone else could see me as a girl when it took you four years to figure it out! You hate the fact that your last resort doesn’t need you!”

Ron huffed, “ _ Girl? _ You’re just dressed up, I wouldn’t call you a girl! Girls are pretty. Girls comb their hair and do something more than talk your ear off about the most random things. Girls are  _ nice. _ Girls don’t do their best to hex people on a dueling strip. Girls aren't mental!”

Girls let boys win the argument and just cry until boys deigned to come talk to them. Girls waited. Girls--

“You’re right,” she said with a shocking clarity. The haze of despair and panic that usually came with that word fizzling out, replaced by the pure  _ joy _ of the years of letters, of her and Viktor’s quiet moments working together. A confidence and assurance she hadn’t ever had before. 

“I’m not a girl.”

Viktor stopped looking to Harry whose eyes widened as Ron gave her a smug smirk. 

“I’m a woman,” she said, regarding him regally and Viktor smiled at her, watching as Ron paled. 

“ _ Women _ are beautiful. Women have more important things to do that worry what others think of their appearance. Women have more in their heads than the cover of Witch’s Weekly. Women are  _ honest _ . Women do what they think is right regardless of what anyone else says. Women do what’s best for them, chose to be with who is best to them, for them, with them. Women choose men because men know women when they meet them and behave accordingly. Women don't let boys walk over them like doormats.”

Harry swallowed thickly as Ron opened his mouth. She took a step forward, forcing him to cede ground and step back.

“But you wouldn’t know anything about  _ women _ would you Ron? Hm? Because you’re a  _ boy.  _ A sniveling, scared little boy throwing a tantrum because even the people he thought lower than him, his last resort, won’t wait for him to be ready to grow up.”

She tossed a curl out of her face, “Women don’t have time to deal with boys.”

Ron stammered as she turned a whirl of dawn colored silk. She looked at Harry. 

“Luna has your cloak, she’s at the table with Ginny. We’ll talk later, Harry, about that look on your face.”

He nodded dumbly and she looked to Viktor, walking towards him, “A walk?”

Viktor looked at her kindly and shook his head, “Da.”

Ron stood shell-shocked as Viktor offered her his arm. 

“Have a good evening,” she said in passing walking with Viktor down the corridor and turned the corner. 

Harry went inside to grab his cloak from Luna who smiled at him. 

“You should talk to him you know?”

“Wh-Who Luna?”

“Draco,” she said easily. “He was watching you all night.”

Harry flushed and prayed that Luna wouldn’t say anything more.

“It’s okay that you don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “But you should know that it’s true.”

Harry nodded, thanking her and grabbing his cloak only to find Ron flushed with rage seething and heading up the stairs. He followed after knowing he wasn’t going to get any sleep if he didn’t get Ron to calm down, or… even if he did.

Ron seemed stuck when the arrived and then set about trying to destroy everything that had Viktor’s name on it.

“Levicorpus,” Harry sighed and watched Ron fly into the air kicking and screaming.

“Put me down!”

“Not on your life,” Harry said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “Are you going to talk about this or throw a tantrum?”

“Take her side why don’t you?!”

“This isn’t about sides,” Harry said with a groan. He really didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this and Draco and--

“What would you know about--”

“RON!” Harry yelled. “I don’t have  _ time _ to deal with your tantrum! So talk about it or I will let you destroy all of your things and get chewed out by your parents about it.”

Ron shut his mouth. That figurine of Viktor had cost more than enough that Molly would have a fit if Ron destroyed it in a petty tantrum… not that she probably wasn’t going to have a tantrum anyway once she found out. 

_ Severus, _ Harry thought. He needed to talk to Severus about Draco...soulmates… about.. _ stuff. _ There was no way he could tell Remus, or Sirius, about this, no matter how much they loved him. Not yet… wounds were still too open and his Mum? He shuddered to think.

“I…” Ron started and shut his mouth. “I hate it.”

Harry waited, “Hate what?”

“ _ Them, _ ” he said with a growl. “It’s … bad enough how much she… fawned over the letters. I’d built up the guy to be some nobody who didn’t speak English, but then it’s  _ Viktor Krum... _ How am I supposed to compete with that Harry?”

Harry swallowed, “Well admitting that you’re trying to compete, rather than calling her mental, may be a good start.”

He huffed, “How embarrassing… jealous over  _ Hermione. _ ”

“And what is wrong with liking Hermione?” Harry asked. “She’s brilliant.”

“She’s bossy,” Ron said. “She isn’t pretty at all! She’s just--”

“If that’s what you think, perhaps you should let this go,” Harry said. “Or is it that she’s right?”

“What?”

“You think of yourself as better than her?’ Harry asked. 

Ron snorted, “Certainly in the social department. Who wouldn’t?”

“Having a lot of people that you talk to doesn’t mean you have a lot of friends, Ron,” Harry said. “And you may have just pissed one off beyond reconciliation.”

Ron glared at him, “This only happened because of you.”

“Me?” Harry asked, watching the rage he just couldn’t turn on himself turn in Harry’s direction. “What did I do?”

“Taking pity on her. Trying to hang around her. This is all your fault. I was quite happy not knowing her at all as she prattled on like a textbook in class.”

“It wasn’t pity,” Harry said. “She was alone, I reached out. We’ve been friends ever since.And no one twisted your arm into talking to her.”

“Why turn down free homework help?”

“You... “ Harry started. “Are unbelieveable.  _ Finite Incantartem _ .”

Ron dropped to the ground as Harry got up to tug his tie free, trying not to remember why he had to keep his collar closed, no telling what sort of marks Draco’s teeth had left. He walked over to the cupboard and grabbed his things to head towards the bathroom for a quick clean-up. When he came back, Ron was in bed, fuming, turned away from him and that suited him just fine. He tapped his bedposts with his wand to draw up a silencing spell before crawling into bed. Curfew had been extended for the ball, but he found he was too tired to take advantage of it, especially since he was supposed to be going the Malfoy’s for Christmas…

*

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked as they walked through the corridors, arm in arm.

Hermione nodded, “It was bound to happen.”

“I could break his legs,” Viktor offered. “It really wouldn’t be a chore.”

Hermione smiled, leaning her head onto his shoulder, “That’s sweet, really, but no need.”

Viktor pouted, “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. Can you not be so mature?”

Hermione laughed, “Sorry, I’m a woman, remember?”

Viktor groaned, if only that were the case legally as well. 

“You’re going to get yelled at, aren’t you?”

Viktor shrugged, “Well worth it. It won’t be as bad as my grandmother would have been. The lady Eleonora would never forgive me if I let Igor or my parents set me up with someone.”

“Eleonora...Krum?” She asked looking up at him. “Dark hair, beautiful? Rather tall? Looks like she could be your aunt.”

“Da,” he said nodding. “That’s her… you have met her?”

“She’s my grandfather’s neighbor. They talk all the time.”

Viktor stopped looking at her, “You… are Hermes’ granddaughter, Mia?”

She nodded, “She helped him get my dress robes…”

Viktor groaned, “We will never hear the end of this.”

“Why not?”

“My grandmother has been trying to get us to meet for  _ years _ .”

Hermione laughed, “I imagine she knew that when she sent the robes.”

He groaned, “You have no idea, scheming grandparents. If they wanted to be relatives so badly, why not just get married?”

Hermione laughed even as Viktor flushed, “I didn’t mean… well…”

“It’s okay, I know. El’ said time and time again, while pinching my cheeks, that she would love to have me in the family… then she and my grandfather could be siblings like they destined to be.”

Viktor laughed and shook his head, “Yes, that sounds like her.”

Hermione chuckled a bit as he let out a breath, “Hermione.”

“Da?”

He shuddered and let out a painful sound, “I don’t think I can teach you any more Bulgarian, but come out with me tomorrow? To Hogsmeade?”

Hermione nodded, “Okay.”

He took a turn and headed back towards Gryffindor tower. 

“You’ve learned the castle.”

“It’s a habit.”

He walked her up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and kissed her hands. 

“I will see you tomorrow.”

Hermione nodded, “It’s good to--”

The Fat Lady had seen a lot of kisses in her time as the gatekeeper to Gryffindor Tower. Most of them were inexperienced and terrible to watch between fumbling teenagers, but Viktor kissed like a man. His large hand cupping Hermione’s jaw, fingers around the back of her neck, his arm around her waist pressing Hermione against him as he plundered her mouth, slow gentle strokes that made the Fat Lady blush. She thinks perhaps she’ll have to interrupt the moment, but Viktor pulled away in an appropriate time. The kiss wasn’t chaste, but it wasn’t obscene either. His thumb graced the curve of her cheek as he bumped their noses together gently. 

“ _ Kalinychta kai oneira glyka, _ ” he whispered against her lips before pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“ _ Kalinychta, _ ” she replied almost breathless before turning and giving her the password. He waited at the top of the steps until she waved shyly and slipped into the portrait hole.

“Young man,” she started earning Viktor’s attention before leavin. 

“Thank you,” she found herself saying. “Gods know that Hermione needed someone to be kind to her.”

“Is not kind,” Viktor replied. “Is love.”

She blinked wanting ask how he could say that, but his smile is disarming. He bowed to her politely and left down the stairs. He walked back to the ship, licking his lips and trying to savor the taste of hers, it’s sweet and hesitant, not entirely innocent so much as inexperienced. He’s met with Karkaroff on the deck and a whole host of spitting angry words to which Viktor can only smile. 

“There is nothing you can do about it,” he walked to his cabin, not surprised to find it empty except for a pile of fanmail. He pulled off his robes and slid into bed, promising to write to his grandmother about Hermione, about his night and everything but he couldn’t think to do it now, enjoying the warm buzz in his blood and happy. 

So very happy.


	19. I’ve Never Felt So High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily is an honorary Slytherin ...Did Viktor mention his rather sexy cravings?

Severus sat in the compartment with Draco and Harry on the way back to London with an odd sense of knowing. It wasn’t often that he employed his legilimency these days, but with the two of them in the same compartment he didn’t need to. They were overflowing with emotions, feeding them back and forth between one another in the secret way that only soulmates could. Though the spells that the Ministries of Magic employed to verify that people were soulmates could only be used when you were seventeen, most people began experience the signs in their early teens, sometimes earlier especially when they’d already met their soulmate or spent a great deal of time around them.  The gathering at the Malfoy house would be a disaster with them like this. He wasn’t entirely sure what had transpired, but given the state of the two when they’d come to him… he could guess. 

Draco had been beside himself, sobbing bitterly and lying on the stone floor in front of the fireplace, shivering with cold and shock. He hadn’t seen him like that since he was child and Lucius had been a little too rough with him and his feelings. He’d had to coax Draco to take an extra-strength calming potion so he would sleep rather easily. Draco didn’t bring it up in the morning, just took the potion Severus gave him and went to his room. Harry had shown up nervous, shifty, clearly anxious not even five minutes after Draco had left his presence. Severus waited, regarding Harry as he paced and babbled. From what Severus could gather, Harry had been having visions through the eyes of someone at Slytherin house… a very specific person whom Harry knew but wouldn’t tell him. 

“You could ask Draco--”

“No!” Harry said making Severus even more suspicious as he flushed and looked away. “I-I can’t… I mean… I’d never hear the end of it.”

Severus surmised that it was Draco for sure, or at the very least Harry thought it was Draco. Draco had been pining after Harry for years as far as he could tell, doing just about anything he possibly could to get Harry’s attention negative or positive. When they arrived at King’s Cross station Lily met them at the platform and Severus told her, while they were getting their trunks the situation. 

Lily nodded and thought for a moment, “Oh no!”

“What is it Mum?” Harry asked.

“I forgot,” she said. “Severus and I made reservations out of town. I thought it was closer to when you all had to head back. You’ll be on your own for a little while.”

“I can just… go home,” Draco said softly. 

“Oh no dear,” Lily said with a shake of her head. “I can’t trust Harry in the house by himself.”

“Mum!”

“It’s true dear, you’re such a trouble maker. Besides, your mother told me that Christmas would just have to be cancelled at the manor this year anyway.”

Draco frowned, “Is… something wrong?”

“She went to Grimmauld with Sirius.”

Draco swallowed and nodded, meaning that Lucius wasn’t exactly the nicest company at the moment and it would be better for his health to stay away. Narcissa was probably nursing some wound in one of Grimmauld’s many rooms while Sirius raved about murdering Lucius in his sleep. 

“It’s fine dear, we know our house isn’t the manor, but I’m sure you two will be fine staying in Harry’s room.”

If he could have, Severus would have laughed. His wife wasn’t just crafty, but downright inventive. They headed towards the fireplace and floo’d to Godric’s Hollow. Lily made a show of finishing packing and set Severus to the market to stock the house fit for two teenage boys.

There are enough snacks, muggle and wizarding, for everyone to be happy, food to eat and make as while Harry was a troublemaker he was decent in the kitchen. They grabbed their bags and headed out.

“You two be safe. Watch some movies or something, yeah?” Lily asked, kissing both of them on the heads.

“We’ll be okay,” Harry managed, swallowing.

She hugged him tightly, “Just tell him the truth, dear. It’ll sort itself out.”

Harry blinked, shocked but then she was hugging Draco, being sure to squeeze him as tight as he liked, mess with his hair as much as he liked. It was telling that he didn’t even have the wherewithal to put up his usual fuss about it. They walked out the door, beyond the property line and took each other’s hand.

“So where are we going?” Severus asked.

“Somewhere you can let your guard down too.”

Harry watched them vanish from the sidewalk and turned, facing Draco who didn’t look at him, just turned towards the stairs and walked up them.

“A-Are you hungry?”

“No.”

Harry licked his lips, “We could—“

“You don’t have to pretend, Potter,” Draco said. “I don’t need you to. I’d rather deal with my father than play at niceties with you.”

Harry swallowed, “Do you… want to talk about… what happened?”

“Do you?” Draco asked and Harry opened his mouth trying to get the words out, but they didn’t come.

Draco sighed and looked at Harry, pinning him with his ice grey eyes, “I’ve been having visions of you, dreams from your perspective for the last few years. When we touch… it feels like sparks…”

Harry blinked swallowing and Draco turned.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch, no need to make me anything.”

He turned and walked up the stairs wishing that Harry would say something, but it never came. So he grabbed his trunk and levitated it down stairs towards the den, changed for bed and crawled onto the couch, beneath the millions of blankets that Lily had in the room and watched the Christmas tree lights until everything went dark.

*

Somehow, Severus isn’t surprised where she apparated them to, remembering well the time spent while at Hogwarts in the small cottage in the forest. She opened the door and turned on the light with a smile.

“It’s warded up, well protected, and not too far away from groceries.”

“You could have been in Slytherin,” he said regarding her as she took a seat. 

She smiled, “I’m married to one, doesn’t that make me honorary?”

“Perhaps.”

Lily chuckled as he looked around, “I meant it, Severus…”

He said nothing, not turning to her as she stood up and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his back. 

“I know what teaching at Hogwarts does to you… it’s been too long since you’ve… unshielded sweetheart. I’m here for you.”

He said nothing, registering her words and placing a hand on her warmly. 

“When you’re ready,” she said with a squeeze. “I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

“I know,” he said gently.

*

Hermione is thankfully, graciously, alone when she wakes up. Alone enough that she can take a hot bath in peace without worrying about someone hexing the spouts. She relished the fact that the curls from the night before still held relatively well and coralled her hair into a plain sphedone, tugging on something comfortable and warm she wrapped the brilliant red scarf he’d sent her around her neck and grabbed her winter coat to head down the steps. Viktor had promised to take her on a proper date today and Viktor was always a man of his word if nothing else. 

Viktor waited by the great hall, there with a smile in his light cloak, pants and shirt. 

“How are you not freezing?” She asked looking at him.

“Norwegia is in winter most of the year,” he said. “This is spring for me until I go home.”

She nodded and took his arm. Once far enough outside the grounds, they he apparated them to Hogsmeade and when they landed she had to shake herself free of the sensation, wobbling on her feet though not throwing up her soul, so he counted it as a good thing.

“First time?”

She nodded.

“You did well,” he said. “I was sick for three days my first time apparating… I was also a good deal younger I suppose.”

They stopped for breakfast at the small cafe and wandered through the rest of the shops that were open. It has to be the most carefree day they’ve ever experienced, even when people rush him for an autograph outside of the Quidditch shop. Hermione only smiled at him and urged him to him smile even if his female fans had a complete disregard for them clearly being on a date. 

The Daily Prophet would have a field day, she was sure. Their last stop was the old bookstore, crammed to the back of the small village. It was completely out of the way, but in Hermione’s experience carried a great deal of things that she couldn’t find in the Hogwarts library. Viktor managed to talk her down to one book on this trip with nearly underhanded tactics, before walking back towards Hogwarts. They took the carriages this time. 

“Thestrals?” Viktor asked seeing the skeletal creature that looked back at him and whinnied. 

“Yes,” Hermione said turning her head. “Thestrals.”

Viktor looked at her, “You can see them, too?”

Hermione nodded and smiled at them before climbing into the carriage. 

“My cousin,” Viktor said. “When we were small… We almost drowned together.”

Hermione swallowed, “I’m… sorry.”

Viktor shook his head, “The merpeople of the Black Sea brought us back to shore, but it was too late for her.”

Hermione squeezed his hand and looked at him, “I’m sure you did everything you could to save her.”

Viktor stiffened looking at ther, her kind eyes seeing more than he though he’d allowed. How…

He cleared his throat, squeezing her hand back, “Thank you.”

She smiled, “It was my grandmother.”

Viktor looked at her. 

“I was little, too little, but we were all in the hospital together. They’d left me alone in the room with her and she just… stopped breathing.”

Viktor nodded and slipped an arm around her waist to tug her closer to him. 

“I am sorry, did you… know here well?”

“No,” Hermione said. “From what I remember, she was horrid actually. She was my Dad’s mother and never really liked me, or my mother… or my grandfather for that matter.”

Viktor nodded as Hermione shrugged. In her tiny world, it meant that she wouldn’t have her cheeks pinched for not saying much or have to eat that awful pudding she made. Viktor could only laugh and tell her about his own grandfather who made the best pudding and was incredibly generous with it. 

“Too generous if you asked my grandmother,” Viktor told her. 

They walked into the castle and ended up in the Room of Requirements, apparently it was the only room that ghosts didn’t wander into and out of and they could sit quietly, close, reading with her in his lap or kiss, to be together in peace while the castle was all but empty for the rest of the holiday. Igor had left with his wife and with most students. Viktor, being the champion, was all but ordered to stay behind and work on preparing for the 2nd task. Igor had left him with piles of books, sure that they would keep him busy since he assumed Hermione would be leaving, but they would wait and Hermione was under obligation to remain behind with her champion after all. 

Now, he almost wished she’d left him and whatever other students were still there for the holiday because she was looking up at him with those eyes, clinging to him. He hadn’t meant to work her up the way he had, but as it stood he had. She leaned forward, chasing after his lips, whimpering, pleading for more until he smacks her ass hard enough to sting, a little harder and a little more meaningful than a love tap.  She yelped in shock but didn’t flinch away.

“ _ Mila, ne. _ ”

He froze at the sound of his own voice, his action as she looked up at him with that look that had been haunting his dreams since he’d first seen it. Wonder and frustration washed over him in equal force. Her eyes were open, her breath caught and she swallowed looking at him, stilling even though she shook. 

“Good girl,” he breathed and she whimpered, low and needy, her legs trembled around one his one from the way she’d all but crawled into his lap. 

“You…” he let out a breath, hands on her shoulders and pushing her gently back so the scent of her wouldn’t cloud his already broken judgement. “We need to talk.”

Her jaw shook as he pressed a kiss to her temple, adjusting himself on the couch to pull her close, stretched out, letting her body rest half on his and half between him and the back of the couch. 

“Lay down, mila,” he said with a sigh. “Please?”

She relented laying her head on his chest as he sighed, forcing air into his lungs and sense into his head. For the love of the gods, Merlin and beyond, what the bloody hell was he doing?

“I… there are things, mila, I need to tell you. Things that wouldn't make sense if I wrote them on paper.”

She waited.

“I have… needs… no, that’s not the right word… urges? Desires?”

“Like craving chocolate?”

He smiled at her question and kissed her forehead, “Sure. Cravings. I’m not a nice person…”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You think so?”

Hermione let out a breath, “Of course. I doubt you could tell me something that could change my mind on that and it actually be true.”

“I think about turning you over my knee and spanking you until you cry.”

She blinked, her eyes fluttering and he wanted to kiss her for being so cute even as his stomach cramped with terror. He couldn’t just go for something small like pinning her up against a wall, could he? That had to be what came out of his mouth, in Greek at that. At least if it was English he could try and play it off, though even that was doubtful.

He wanted to groan. She needed to know if they were going to pursue anything when she was older, and even now to explain some of his mannerisms as they pertained to her. And he wanted to curse himself for wanting to be so honest with her. Honesty was good, but she was  _ fifteen _ , untouched, inexperienced--he’d probably freaked her out.

“Would these needs, urges, etc. be why you sometimes… call me a good girl?”

He smiled, “Partially.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “How… extensive are these urges?”

Viktor snorted wanting to laugh at exactly how practical she sounded looking away from him, “What are you imagining?”

“Well… I’ve read some pretty extensive things…”

Viktor laughed then, tossing his head back, his whole body shaking with it before squeezing her tightly.

“Oh mila,  _ e tam nishto ne ste procheli  tova? _ ”*

Hermione tilted her head, looking up at him and squinting as he laughed. She got the word “read” out of the half-laughed Bulgarian. From her best guess, he was astonished that she’d read about it.

“I read everything,” she decided on as a reply as he wiped his eyes from laughing. He nodded.

_ Unbelieveable, _ he thought shifting a bit and fixing his mouth to speak Greek to her. “What have you read?”

Hermione looked at her hands, “Are you making fun of me?”

“Never, sweet,” he assured, threading his fingers in her wild curls, still loose from the extensive Sleekeazy’s treatment. “Never. I’m serious.”

“Well…” she started tentatively, skirting around the fact that she’d read nearly every muggle fiction series on BDSM that she’d been able to get her hands on without suspicion. Most of the public library’s books about them as it had been something she’d been interested in, a psychological exchange that was inherently wrought with emotion and things that she, quite usually, couldn’t feel while on medication. She’d thought it could be something to look to curb her anxieties.

Viktor listened to her and licked his lips, leaning down to look her in the eye, “You’ve  _ researched _ this haven’t you, my little bookworm?”

She didn’t look at him, “I read everything.”

He moved her hair aside, “While that is true, you don’t  _ research everything. _ Tell me, really.”

Hermione licked her lips, “I thought… maybe it would… help with my anxiety.”

He watched her, as she carried on, “But of course that was just a theory and I would need someone I actually trusted extensively to even consider  trying it and I--”

He pressed a finger to her lips, “Da, I think you are right about your anxiety… Are you more afraid of what you have to think about when you aren’t talking or what could be said?”

She opened her mouth and shut it, afraid to answer. It honestly depended. She talked more when she was nervous outside of class because she was afraid of messing things up, of saying something that would only strengthen the label of “mental” hanging over her head. She was terrified of talking over people’s heads and essentially isolating herself even more than she already was so she explained everything she’d said, carried the full weight of the conversation. In her experience, if someone was silent after she’d said anything it usually came with a confused look and that was quickly followed with being ignored completely.

In class, she talked more because she didn’t want to think about how much she couldn’t manage to care, she’d developed a habit of pretending to care that much in the hopes that she could trick herself out of her own apathy. It hadn’t worked, but her grades were fantastic.

“I see,” Viktor said as she couldn’t answer him. “Do you trust me?”

Hermione nodded slowly.

Viktor licked his lips, “We’ll try something small, mila. Beginner level if you will. Sound okay?” 

“... Like what?” She asked against his chest, smelling the crisp clean scent of him.

Viktor though for a moment and reached into his pocket, grabbing a red handkerchief. 

“You recite relevant facts about a subject when you think you’ve said too much,” Viktor said. “‘Or when you think it’s expected of you.”

“My doctors thought it could be Tourette’s, but it was too specific for that. They just chocked it up to social anxiety because of what happened. I’m not sure if I agree with…”

Viktor smiled listening to her. Part of him knew that it was the way her mind worked, but he waited until she finished her thought, stammered and opened her mouth to speak before pressing a finger to her lips.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You didn’t lose me and I understood everything you said. We’ll try it for the whole break.”

The task was simple. They would talk like they always did and whenever she started to try and talk from her anxiety, he would gag her for five minutes. Hermione swallowed and nodded. 

“Okay.”

Viktor grinned.

“Do you know why I’m going to gag you as opposed to anything else?”

Hermione swallowed, “To… get me used to silence.”

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t have to carry the full weight of being understood in any conversation, mila. Say what you mean to say and that’s all you need. If someone wants to understand you, they’ll ask for clarity.”

Her stomach twisted and Viktor licked his lips. More than likely, what she actually feared was no one  _ wanting _ to understand her, but he’d let her reach that conclusion on her own.

Hermione nodded looking at him and letting out a breath. It happens when eventually crack open one of Igor’s book. It’s kind of useless in terms of mapping which prompted Hermione to shake her head and make notes of her own, sitting in his lap so he could read over her shoulder as she made notes. 

“Per Rucilius Nottingham, the Black Lake became home to the first mer-colony in the seventeenth century, the salinity of the lake shifted in the sixteenth after the battle of Frozen River, making it nearly uninhabitable. Then, a century later the tides shifted after…”

Viktor smiled into her shoulder as she talked and drew up her noted, pulling them for the sources she’d read.

“But we’ll still have to cross-reference….”

“You’re brilliant,” he said.

She swallowed, “Actually, I’m just highly logical which allows me to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook.”

Viktor smiled at her, a soft tender thing, indulgent even, and she froze, her mouth opening a flurry of words came, logical, highly logical and so fast triggered by it, that she can’t make herself stop. He drew out the handkerchief as she stammered to a stop and pulled back.

“Close your mouth, mila.”

Her jaw trembled but she did as she was told allowing him to tie the length of cloth over her lips and grab a five minute hourglass. 

“Lay back,” he said. “Relax. It’s okay.”

He felt her tense up even more and tugged her against him, rubbing her back as she shook, a low whimpering sound coming from her that tugged at his heart.

“Five minutes,” he said. “Be good for me and relax. This isn’t because I want you to stop talking. This is because I don’t want you to be nervous with me, sweet. I listen to you and anyone else who wants to hear what you have to say will listen too.”

She grit her teeth beneath the gag. It’s gentle, more a reminder to be quiet and contain her thoughts than anything. His voice is soothing, but there’s something beating at her teeth, at her ribcage--a horrible terror that she can’t quite name.

When the five minutes are up he untied the knot and gave her a kiss, “Good girl. You did well.”

Hermione begged to think differently because it isn’t the last time. They’re in the room of requirements for all of a few hours and it seems that every  thirty minutes or so, she was gagged, lying still against him with him rubbing her back. Her eyes burned hot with frustration. Why couldn’t she do this? Why was she such a failure at this? Why was he so calm and patient about this? She wanted to say a million and three terrible things to herself, yet he was just so…  _ kind _ and patient, coaxing her to relax. 

She’d memorized most of the library, was set to graduate three years early from Hogwarts and catapult herself into advanced healing training before she even became of age, but she couldn’t--

“Sweet,” he said softly, cupping her face. “Look at me.”

She turned her head way shamed and moved to stand, stammering out something about heading back to her dorm. He stopped her at the door, pressing the flat of his hand against it with a low sigh. She didn’t turn around, a large tome pressed against her chest like a shield, her head tilted down and hiding her tears in the curtain of her dark curls, forcing her jaw shut lest more things come tumbling out.

“I have pushed you too far,” Viktor said softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, sweet, we won’t--”

She shook her head letting out a desperate sob. Viktor grunted, a physical pain stabbing him in the chest as he reached for her and turned her around to look at him. She didn’t relinquish the book, crying silently, her jaw trembling.

“Hermione,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

“I--... I can’t  _ do  _ this,” Hermione said shaking and letting out another sob. “I can’t… how am I… supposed to do anything when I can’t even manage to k-keep my mouth shut? Sabertooth, Know-It-all… Granger... _ mental… _ ”

Viktor’s eyes widened seeing her shake as she fell to her knees, clutching the book in her arms tightly and sobbing. Viktor kneeled, and grabbed the book. She whimpered, holding it tighter in her brown hands, against her chest as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

“Let go, sweet,” he said and tugged it free of her grasp before pulling her into his lap, pressing her face in the crook of his neck and let her cry, hot frustrated tears. It was… worse than he expected. Perhaps Hermione’s need to please, to be perfect, had deeper roots than he first thought, perhaps if she wasn’t talking out her anxiety, she’d be trapped with them. 

He wondered, for a moment, if she had a therapist that she saw back home.

“I need you to listen to me, mila,” he said gently. “You don’t have to say anything, just listen okay?”

She sniffled and nodded against him, clinging to him. 

“Habits are not broken in a day,” he said calmly. “It takes time and you did wonderfully. It’s only been a few hours. This isn’t at all like memorizing a book. It’s something you have to learn, slowly, a habit you have to change, a mind state…. Those don’t change in a manner of an hour.”

She sniffled. 

“Anxiety isn’t something you manage to control in one day.”

She sniffled again as he pulled back and lifted her face to wipe the tears away.

“You are so brave for trying to change, to do something new in the hopes that it will help you settle into your skin. So very brave and you should be proud of that.”

She looked at him hopelessly, “Viktor…”

“It will take time,” Viktor assured. “I can’t say how much, but so long as you are willing to try, whatever you are willing to try, it will happen.”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“Now,” he said. “I don’t want to ever hear you call yourself any of that ever again, understand?”

She looked at him. 

“Or I will actually turn you over my knee,” Viktor warned. “You don’t call yourself any of that, you don’t talk about yourself that way. Not because I’m telling you not to, but because none of it is true. Understand?”

She nodded slowly and Viktor took a deep breath, “I’m going to have you repeat after me, okay?”

Hermione nodded.

“I’m beautiful,” he said.

Hermione looked away.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

Despite herself and the way the words seemed to scratch on the way out, she said it, “I...I’m beautiful.”

“I’m brilliant.”

“I’m brilliant.”

Viktor smiled at how easily that came. 

“I’m not mental.”

“I…” she took a calming breath and squeezed his hands. “I’m not mental.”

“I’m strong.”

“I’m… strong.”

“Again, from the beginning.”

She looked at him, “I’m… beautiful. I’m brilliant. I’m not...mental. I’m… strong.”

Viktor looked into her eyes and decided that it was a good start, “Good girl. I’m going to have you repeat them every time we’re together, after every punishment, and whenever you need to.”

Hermione looked at him strangely and he smiled, “You’ll understand.” 

She trusts him so she doesn’t think anything odd of it. The first time she finds herself repeating the mantra is before her entrance exam into the  **Asclepius** Healer’s Academy of Greece. Minerva had escorted her to the testing center and helped her get all the paperwork she’d need. The exams would be taking place all day the day before classes started back up and no matter how sure she was of herself, she just… needed a little extra reassurance. She isn’t sure why, but they feel calming, like Viktor’s hand in her hair and peace a she sits and fills out her paperwork before sitting for the test.

When it’s over and they’re back at Hogwarts, he’s waiting for her in the foyer with a smile and a promise to take her to Hogsmeade for dinner. He takes her hand and guides her down the familiar path, opens doors, and pulls out her chair. He’s doting, attentive, caring and affectionate. It feels like a dream and serves as the perfect distraction to fretting about how well she’d done, if some of the experimental spells she’d done were good enough… Madame Pomfrey had put a lot of faith in her, a lot of esteem as had the rest of her Professors… 

It would have broken her heart to let them down. 

On the walk back, she feels a little mischievous and throws a snowball at him before running away. He’s faster than her in the snow, having spent most of the year in it, but she’s the Gryffindor champion for a reason. She conjured a walk of snow and slipped behind a tree. 

“ _ Mila, _ ” he said dusting off his cloak. “ _ You are in so much trouble. _ ”

She worried her lip at his tone, warm and playful, the meaning behind it unsure. She shrieked at the face full of snow she turned into as he laughed. 

“Do not start a game you can’t finish,” he advised as she wiped her face raising her wand. 

“I’m just getting started!”

At some point, that is how Dumbledore finds them: dueling in the forest, hurling snow and ice at one another. Minerva is almost as shocked as he is to see them. It’s a rather fierce snowball fight, complete with small snow man aries that throw vollies of snow that exploded along the ground. Hermione is quick on her feet, tumbling, flipping and spinning out of the way as Viktor had her on the run.  Acrobatic, flipping in a straight line just out of the way of  Viktor’s snowball aerial assault.

She landed solidly and hurled an Expelliarmus at him that sent his wand flying into the snow and threw up her hands in triumph.

“I win!”

Viktor laughed, moving to find his wand before walking to her and lifting her off her feet to spin her around and take her to the ground to tickle her until she shrieked.

“Mischievous girl, must learn her lesson!”

“I’m sorry! Viktor! Viktor please!”

Dumbledore and Minerva watched them flail around in the snow. He was sure that he’d never seen her so carefree. It was good and exactly what they needed considering that Viktor seemed to have friends, but none that would so readily count for this particular trial.

“I think they are rather friendly,” Dumbledore said with a humored smile. 

“Mr. Krum does seem to be… quite taken with her,” Minerva said. “As I understand it, they were paired as correspondents in Miss Granger’s first year.”

Dumbledore nodded and headed into Hogsmeade leaving the two to their squabbling. 

Viktor kissed her soundly among the falling snow and helped her up. 

“Come, we should get you inside before you freeze.”

She nodded, letting him twine their arms together and walk back to the castle. He dried her off gently and led her to their study room knowing she would ask about it. They spend the rest of the afternoon pouring over maps and ideas about how to breathe underwater for an hour. Eventually, they decided on human transfiguration as it was something that Viktor has quite a bit of experience with and would definitely score him more points than a Bubble Head Charm, it was also considerably less delicate of a spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Is there nothing you haven't read about?


	20. Follow Me To The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...about those urges... and flying.

Viktor left the Great Hall feeling something twisting in his gut. It was all of a few weeks into the new semester, a few weeks before the second task and he was itching for a break. His neck was still itching oddly from his practice that morning by the lake. 

When he arrived at the Room of Requirements, where he was supposed to meet Hermione for a bit of time together, there’s something off about it, he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. 

She isn’t crying, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that tells him she’s barely restraining herself. She doesn’t look up when he comes in, her jaw is too tense for nothing to be wrong and his chest tightens into a restricted feeling that makes him nervous, even more . 

“Sweetheart?”

She flinched stilling as he came towards her on the couch and took a seat. She seemed a little beside herself, shaking and her fists tight on her knees. Her jaws locked tight and staring into nothing, 

“Mila, what’s wrong?” He asked gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, she flinched and let out a struggling sound when he realized that there was definitely a lot more to what was wrong than he could have imagined. 

“Mila,” he said again, a bit more edge in his voice. “Talk to me.”

“Hi,” she said, soft and fragile, barely a whisper. 

“Better,” he said looking at her. “What happened?”

“I passed my exams.” He waited, “All Os.”

Viktor shook his head and breathed as she managed to gather the words in her head to speak. 

“I… went to dinner.”

Viktor watched her, the slow process of her forcing only the relevant things out. She struggled with the idea of being gagged, at least she had and now she was gagging herself. It was a… a step in the right direction of sorts and he only lifted a hand to stroke her hair gently, watching the way she sighed a bit and relaxed a little. 

“I… I...went to… the common room…”

Viktor licked his lips and pressed a kiss to her temple, waiting. He’d learned rather early in his Quidditch career that patience was the greatest virtue in life. If he waited long enough, most things would fall into place given that he was quick on his broom as well. This was no different, he could feel everything converging, an opening in the world through which he could reach his goal, through which he could see the issue. 

Hermione was very clearly someone he would have to exercise such patience with.

“There were… girls… older girls...talking… ab-about me...about us.”

He almost groaned, knowing how mean older girls could be.

“They were… completely daft bimbos.”

He chuckled.

“They… told someone… about… something that happened in first year,” she said thickly. “When I… before the potions were… were better. When I didn’t take them…”

“They cornered me…”

Viktor frowned as he voice shook and she hung her head, shaking. 

“I… I’m a great d-duelist but… they just… they came at me… They were so…  _ mean _ . It wasn’t even hexes. I didn’t know what to do… I...zoned out.”

He looked at her.

“I didn’t feel anything,” she said shaking her head. “I didn’t say anything and they were so… mean… yelling at me… shoving me around… called me m-mental...said they would tell you… said so many horrible things to me.”

She zoned out, hadn’t heard them beyond her memories. Hadn’t heard anything beyond the panic that maybe once he knew then things would change and she couldn’t. She couldn’t--She’d stepped back into that incident on the playground and while it wasn’t her first run-in with hallucinations, it more terrifying than any others. Most of her hallucinations were things that couldn’t possibly be real, never things that had happened before. She was stuck between the realm of mania and PTSD and she just couldn’t take it. 

She’d screamed.

“I couldn’t stop it…”

There was so much magic, flowing around her, encasing her, glowing as she fell to her knees, trapped. She had no understanding of what had happened to the other girls, what was going on, but she remembered the out of control feeling, remembered screaming, begging for it to stop. 

She didn’t want to hurt anyone.

She’d been hurt enough.

She didn’t want to lose Viktor for something that she couldn’t control.

“A  _ freak _ ,” she choked. “Completely mental, I couldn’t stop it. Just-- there was so much and I couldn’t control it! What if it’s true Viktor? People like me aren’t supposed to have magic at all?”

Viktor licked his lips, but before he could say anything she was on her feet and it was clear that whatever the girl’s had said to her had been one too many attacks on her psyche. Hermione had a lot of power that she hadn’t quite learned how to control or tap into yet. She could be dangerous in her brilliance. More than likely, her emotions, which were so very usually muted by her potions, her illness, and her distinct brand of affect, had rushed the gates taking that untapped power with it. 

He knew what that was like, how scary it could be… he also knew how terrifying it had to have been for her since the last time it happened a group of children had almost died because of it.

She mussed her hair nervously as he watched her shaking hands running through her curly hair, wild and untamed, the Durmstrang tie barely hanging on despite its charms. She was usually of a rich brown complexion, but she’d gone pale with shock and horror.

“Mental people aren’t supposed to have magic. Mudbloods--I could have killed them and I don’t eve--even know what it was. What I did--I--”

“Mila,” he said calmly and she froze looking at him, something around the edges of that word making her stop. 

“What did I tell you I would do to you if you ever spoke about yourself that way again?”

She blinked confused for a moment before swallowing thickly, “Turn me… over your knee.”

“Good, come here,” he said taking her hands as she drew closer. 

“When we’re done, we’ll go speak to your headmaster, okay?” Viktor asked looking at her. “You are not a freak. Your blood doesn’t have anything to do with your magic worthiness, neither does your illness. You understand?”

Hermione looked at him.

“That would be like saying I’m too tall so i don’t deserve to be a seeker, don’t deserve to fly,” he said. “Magic chose you, Hermione, whether anyone else likes it or not.”

She looked at him seriously.

“ _ I _ chose you, whether anyone likes it or not,” he said softly, and kissed her hands. “Okay?”

She nodded stiffly, “Come here, sweetheart.”

She sat in his lap, letting him hold her close and gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“They’re just jealous,” he said. “Jealous that with all their pure blood, it won’t cover up that they’re nothing inside.”

She said nothing, not even a hiccup and while Viktor knew it was a part of the shock, it wasn’t good. She wouldn’t get past this without letting it out. It would fester and grow tighter in her chest, he could feel it in his own. She’d been right to think that a power-exchange might help quell some of her anxieties, or at least manage them a little better than her potions alone, but it had to be consistent and it had to be on her terms. 

“I’ll give you a moment,” Viktor said gently, hushing her. “When you’re ready.”

“Are you… really going to turn me over your knee?” She asked timidly. 

There’s tone coloring her voice telling him that he’d pulled her out of his panic. The rush of relief was so heady that he almost missed answering her. 

“And spank you,” he said, stroking her hair, marvelling at how soft it was. He’d get his hands in it and pull it to make her bare her throat one day. “Yes, I am if you agree to it.”

She fidgeted and he lifted an eyebrow, “You’ve thought about this?”

“W-Well, it was in a book I read and I-- I mean…”

“You’ve…  _ fantasized _ about this,” he said with a grin. “Tell me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You can,” he said. “This doesn’t work unless you’re honest with me.” 

She fiddled with her skirt for a moment and then looked up at him before opening her mouth to tell him about a scene from one of the novels she’d read. He isn’t sure how he’s managing to still listen when his brain is definitely fried. He’d have to invest in muggle romance novels if their writers could devise a scene like the one she was describing. He closed his eyes and he could practically see Hermione, bent over in nothing more than Bulgarian red lacy lingerie, a high cut thong perhaps, squirming in her bonds, a bright red ball in her mouth, pleading with him as the vibrator hummed low and constant. Pleading to stop, for more as he took his time and spanked her ruthlessly.

He was going straight to hell for having such thoughts about a fifteen-year-old, he was sure. 

_ You’re only three years older than her, _ he chided himself, just a year past the wizarding adult age. In the muggle world, he was only just barely an adult. Hell, he couldn’t even drink yet in some countries….

He shook his head. That train of thought was dangerous.

“You,” he started with a grunt. “Will be the death of me.”

Hermione didn’t look at him she shifted and heard him hiss in pleasure. She froze feeling the solid line of his erection pressing up against her. 

“Is that… something you’d like me to do to you?” Viktor asked. “You’ve never been spanked before have you?”

Hermione shook her head, “No.”

Viktor nodded, “Well, after your punishment we’ll see how you feel. Turn over, sweet.”

She felt a tad ridiculous as he maneuvered her over his lap. His thighs supporting her from the juncture of her hip to just below her bust line. Her cheeks were hot, buried in her arms as she squirmed and he took his time, maneuvering her robes out of the way. He didn’t lift her skirt, careful to stroke the back of her thighs and over the folds of her skirt to get her used to the feel and weight of his hand. To make her relax knowing that he wouldn’t go too far before she was ready… no matter how tempting it was to just overwhelm her and make her mind be quiet for just a little bit.

_ Patience _ , he told himself. This wasn’t about him. It was about Hermione.

“Is this okay?” Viktor asked gently and she found herself nodding, a hand in her hair. 

She nodded nervously, wiggling a bit, unable to settle waiting for him to get on with it, but he waited, sagely patient stroking her hair, the backs of her thighs. His hands were so warm on her brown skin, kneading the tense muscles of her thighs and calves in his large hands.

“Shh,” he hushed. “Twenty, count them for me. Okay?”

Hermione nodded trying to relax. At the first blow, the sound caught in her throat, a stinging pain on her back side.

“One,” she heard herself say. 

Viktor listened to her voice before landing another blow and listening to the way she sounded at once confused and intrigued at the sensation. 

“Two.”

By the fifth, her hands had tightened in the couch’s cushions, her breath came out in pants and she was all but boneless over his lap. 

By the tenth, she moaned and it was probably the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. Her eyes watering and whimpering little gasps coming from her mouth. She would be sore, but her eyes were so freed that he couldn’t do anything but stroke her hair and tell her how good she was doing. He  was somehow managing to keep it completely about the punishment despite how every caress and every blow made him want to figure out exactly how much body she was hiding beneath the silly skirt. From the way his hand landed, she was very much of an African build, full bodied, rounded high backside. Her silhouette was probably beyond dangerous.

By thirteen, she started squirming, whimpering, clenching her thighs together as she shuddered and begged him to stop. 

“We talked about this, you know what your safe word is.”

She whimpered, shaking her head as he stroked her hair and told her to breathe. 

“Only a few more, sweet, you’re doing so well, shh,” he hushed, leaning to kiss her head. 

It’s a high strained sound, the number twenty from her lips and he wants more than anything to touch her as she writhed on his lap.

“V-Viktor… Vi-Viktor, I…”

“I know,” he soothed, maneuvering her to straddle his thigh. She choked on the press of his thigh between her legs, the full weight of her body baring down. She looked at him confused and needy as he put her arms around his neck, a hand on her hip and showed her how to move. The first roll of her hips, grinding down on to his leg she cried out and clung to him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered moving her again. “You were so good, so very good for me. You took it so well. Go on.”

She panted, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he helped her move.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. Does it feel good?”

She nodded stiffly, trying to smother her sounds into his shoulder.

“Let me hear you sweetheart,” he said moving her hips to grind down a little harder so she cried out. 

He groaned, feeling how wet his his pant leg was getting, how hot she was and frustrated.

“It’s okay, show me how good you can be. Get yourself off for me, sweetheart.”

The first movement is tentative, barely a stutter of her hips. The next is a little more focused, a little more precise. By the third, she’d figure out the pressure and angle and kept at it, desperately rocking against his thigh, arms around his neck and very much lost in the overwhelming pleasure of it. He squeezed her ass over the stinging and her mind was so quiet, so oddly quiet and there was no “that Hermione” or “this Hermione” just a consciousness riding a mounting tidal wave and plunging into oblivion. 

Slowly, the world returned, Viktor’s warmth, his hand on her head murmuring softly to her. 

“ _ Good girl, _ ” he whispered. “ _ You did so well, Hermione. You were so good. _ ”

“Viktor…?” she said drowsily.

“Hello,” he greeted, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thirsty?”

She nodded and felt him move her a bit to get a glass of water to her lips. Viktor set the empty glass aside and pulled her close, adjusting his cloak around her and stroking her hair.

“Viktor?”

“Yes?”

She squirmed a bit, uncomfortable, embarrassed and pulled away a bit, “I… I think I should...go see the Headmaster.”

Viktor swallowed the pained sound that threatened to escape him and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I will go with you if you wish.”

She shook her head, “I… I should talk to him alone.”

Viktor nodded, “Do something for me before you get there?”

She looked up at him nervously. 

“Tell yourself those four statements,” he said softly, with a small smile. “I will see you for dinner?”

Hermione hesitated, but eventually nodded and Viktor pressed another kiss to her head, leaving her wrapped in his cloak as he got her on her feet and grabbed her bag and his own to head towards Dumbledore’s office. As he asked, she whispered the four little sentences to herself, feeling some confused knot start to loosen in her chest. Viktor took his wand to clean his trousers before stopping beside her at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.

He stopped and turned to her, “You are beautiful.”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. 

“You are brilliant.”

“You are not mental.”

“You are strong.”

Hermione swallowed, as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “I will see you later, sweet.”

“Viktor?” She said, catching and squeezing his hand. 

“Da?” Viktor asked, not moving.

“C-Come with me? P-Please?”

Viktor nodded, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she gave the password to the Gargoyle and it hopped aside. Hearing his heavy boots behind her, the warmth of his fur lined cloak around her made the knot in her chest loosen and almost fall apart. She knocked on Dumbledore’s office door and Viktor took her hand, squeezing gently. 

*

In the morning, Hermione meets Viktor in their usual spot to go for a run, except he isn’t there alone, but with his broom in hand. 

“What’s going on?”

“I am cashing in my promise,” he said with a grin. “Today, we fly.”

She winced and he offered her his hand, “Do not be frightened. I’ll be with you the entire time, sweet.”

She gave him a wary look as he steps towards her and sets the broom to float.

“I'm not so sure about this,” she said warily. 

“Do you trust me?” He asked. 

Hermione worried her lip and nodded, “Yes…”

Viktor smiled, “We’ll go slow, I promise.”

Hermione swallowed thickly as he helped her mount the broom and climbed on behind her, hovering just over the ground. He pressed close to her, pressing his face between her shoulder and ear, placing a hand around her waist and the other on the broomstick as she clung tightly with both hands.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Just relax.  Brooms react to you. If you do not trust it, it cannot trust you.”

Hermione took a breath, “Trust me.”

Viktor felt her breathe and relax and then she leaned forward.

“O-Okay,” Hermione whispered and Viktor grinned, guiding the broom away from the spot and towards the Black Lake. She forced herself to breathe in between Viktor’s sweet kisses on her neck. 

He distracts her sweetly, carefully as he maneuvers them higher and around the grounds, murmuring in her ear, licking at her neck so she squirmed. When they land, he’s pretty sure that she won’t ever get on a  broom without thinking of him ever again. 

_ Perfect. _


	21. Set My Heart On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Draco and Harry talk and strange things happen beneath the surface of the Black Lake. Viktor is pretty sure they aren't supposed to actively attack hin like this.

She would be the death of him, he was sure. He’d go straight to hell for letting himself do this and enjoy it. He shouldn’t have--

“ _ Viktor _ ,” she gasped, writhing on top of him, her hips moving against his own, blind and desperate. 

He was going to hell, but he couldn’t really think about that as he flipped them to press her down into the couch, her hands above her mouth as he took her mouth with a feral pleasure that shocked him. She whimpered, straining against him, begging him with a language she didn’t really know to do more. She would be the death of him he was sure. How was he going to keep his head on straight for the challenge tomorrow with this frying his brain? He pulled back, holding her still as he breathed and she squirmed, blindfolded and helpless, trusting him and pressing her legs together in the absence of Viktor’s thigh to grind against.

“ _ Mila, _ ” he said roughly trying to get his brain together. “Dinner.”

She shook and he smiled, trailing a hand over her cheek, “You must eat, sweet. There will be time later.”

Hermione worried her lip, “P-Promise?’

He smirked and kissed her, “I promise.”

He released her slowly marveling at how far they’d gotten, how much she trusted him. He kissed the bridge of her nose and slipped the length of cloth from over her eyes. 

“You are okay?”

Hermione nodded, her eyes bright and he smiled, helping her to sit up, even as she fidgeted. He smirked at her frustrated expression.

“Frustrated?”

She glanced at him and looked away and he turned her back to look at him, “I didn’t mean to make you feel more embarrassed.”

“How… are you so calm?”

He snorted, “I am not calm, sweet. I merely… have more practice.”

Hermione looked at him curiously and he kissed her head, “Do not think on it. Come. You should eat. I think Harry would murder me if not.”

Hermione laughed. Harry had returned from Christmas break in the mood to murder anyone and everything for attempting to disrupt the trembling stability in his life, including Ronald. She'd never seen Harry so riled up, shutting Ronald’s whining down and refusing to put up with any of his insanity. Ron had seemed utterly shocked from the way Harry had torn into him at breakfast the first day of classes and Hermione had found the dark haired wizard alone in a classroom, sobbing and confused.

_ ‘Mione… it’s Draco… I… _

She’d held him close and let him sob, confused and fumble through the explanation of what had happened the night of the Yule Ball. She’d made plans to go and speak to Draco after dinner, though she wasn’t sure how feasible that would be if she were to meet Viktor again later. 

In the end, Viktor tells her that he’ll meet her tomorrow morning as he didn’t want her around Karkaroff. The man had quite a lot to say to him about his “conduct” it seemed. Frustrating, but necessary. She went to find Draco, pulling him away from his group of friends with a pointed look and a secret message directing him to an empty classroom.  When he arrived, he took a seat, seeming more tired, punch-drunk than anything.

“What do you want, Granger?”

“Harry told me what happened.”

He looked at her blearily, “Had a good laugh about it I take it.”

“Harry thinks you’re his soulmate.”

Draco’s eyes widened, shocked, confused and then flushing before standing in anger, glaring at her. He was desperate but for fuck's sake he didn’t realize that being a bit of a prat would earn him this torture. Hadn’t he apologized enough?

“Go to hell, Granger.”

“I’m only telling you this because he’s hurting,” Hermione said, meeting his steely gaze. “And you’re hurting too. You look terrible, Malfoy.”

He sneered at her, but couldn’t find anything to say. He hadn’t been eating, faking at it over Christmas break, tossing and turning with his chest pulsing with pain. He knew his eyes had grown darker, he’d lost a bit of weight, but he didn’t think he looked that bad…

Meanwhile, Harry seemed to be just fine.

“Well,” he said. “Not everyone can laugh meeting their--”

“Harry isn’t laughing,” Hermione said. “He’s stressed, panicked, under at least five glamors and drinking potions for pain to get to sleep at night. He’s frantic, confused, hurt and terrified that what happened was a fluke. That he’s hurt you beyond apology.”

Draco swallowed as Hermione took a seat across from him and told him the truth, “Lily told him what it was like when she and Professor Snape were separated during the war, before she married.”

A pain that wouldn’t go away, coming in blinding debilitating flashes, he knew. Severus had told him that it was the main reason that he’d shut down so hard during the war, the reason it was taking so long to recover the ability to feel anything. He’d severed a part of his magical instincts in order to survive and trying to recultivate that part took time. He could let it go for brief moments, but it was damn near overwhelming and usually accompanied a magic discharge that couldn’t be easily contained.

“I think you know better than I can explain what it feels like.”

Draco nodded mutely. 

“Will you speak to him? Listen to what he has to say?”

Draco swallowed thickly and nodded. Hermione smiled and nodded, sliding a slip of parchment across the table to him. 

“Meet him in the room of requirements tonight at eight.”

Draco nodded and took the slip of parchment with a shuddering breath. She stood and pat his shoulder with a smile. 

“It will be okay, Draco.”

He could only hope that she was right before it got any worse. 

Surprisingly, getting Harry to agree was the hardest part. Where Draco had seemed to be drowning in melancholy, Harry’s peace of mind seemed to have unraveled like a knitted sweater that had been cut through. In the end, Hermione takes his hand, tells Ron to sod off and drags Harry through the halls to the Room of Requirements. She opened the door, shoved him in and locked it behind him. For a moment, she expected him to try to spell it open, but nothing came of it and after a few more moments she left.

*

Draco looked terrible, worse than Harry realized, his wand raised and pointing at Harry. Harry flinched ready for the hex and is pleasantly surprised.

“ _ Finite Incantartem. _ ”

Harry tried to move, but the spell broke over him, dissolving the glamor and Draco gasped seeing him. 

If Draco had been losing hours of sleep, it seemed that Harry had lost days. Bloodshot eyes from tears and lack of sleep, dark bags under his eyes… Harry was a mess and his green eyes shifted nervously, staring at Draco like some terrible beast about to tear him to pieces.

“Bloody hell, Potter, you look like something an Acromantula spit out,” he said, unable to help himself. He moved to pull Harry to the couch to sit, but the other only shook staring at him as Draco looked at him. “Harry--”

“Draco, I’m sorry,” Harry said looking at him. “I… I panicked, I freaked out and I hurt you. If only I could explain how horrid I’ve felt since… since before Christmas…. How much I’ve thought about this and pretended not to over the years---How much I--”

Draco covered his mouth with his own, swallowing whatever else Harry was going to say. He pulled him bodily with him towards the couch and shoved him onto it. Harry flushed, moaning into Draco’s mouth, hot and needy. He whimpered when he landed on the couch and reached for Draco who came willingly.

“Shut up, Potter,” he said as Harry practically melted back onto the couch’s cushions, letting Draco crawl on top of him, between his legs and moaning. Eyes burning and wet with tears the spilled as Draco took his time kissing him. 

“Why are you crying?” Draco’s voice broke over him like a gentle wave, soothing his frazzled mind. 

Harry shook his head, unable to get the words out beyond the soft, pleading whimper and tug on Draco’s neck to bring their lips together again. The longer they kissed, the headier the feeling and the lighter the weights on their chest until they were practically drifting, floating so high and so far away from everything that didn’t matter anymore that they didn’t notice the time ticking by well past curfew.

At least it was the weekend.

*

When morning comes, Viktor is a little past nervous. He went to their meeting room to review his notes and map out the Black Lake in his mind. Igor came in and they headed towards the docks. He looked around but he didn’t see Hermione and that frightened him.

“Vlad,” he said grabbing him by the shoulder. “Have you see Hermione?”

He shook his head. 

“I will look for her.”

Viktor licked his lips and went to the platform, disrobing as the announcement started. Esmerelda and Milo were there, but Hermione was still missing.

“Where is Hermione?” He asked Ginny in passing. 

She shook her head, “No one’s seen her since last night.”

_ An hour long you’ll have to look,  _  he thought.  _ Prospect's black… what you’ll sorely miss… _

He paled and turned towards the inky dark water. 

_ What you’ll sorely miss… _

They’d taken Hermione. 

“Go!”

*

The Enchantment of Sleeping Death is an enchantment that gave the appearance of death. It could be combined rather easily with other time or stimulus dependent spells. In the case of the Second Task, each of the three hostages were enchanted to remain in a sleep like death, unbreathing underwater, until their heads broke the top of the water. 

The Enchantment of Sleeping Death was not one ever tested on people with extraordinary magical ability, nor mental illness. From what she read it relied on inducing and lengthening a person’s beta waves and natural sleep processes.

Hermione had insomnia even on her good days that resisted the strongest sleep potions.

What hope could this spell have to keep her unconcious?

_ A strong one... _ she heard and opened her eyes to see a smirking merface looking at her appraisaingly.  _ Very strong…  _

He froze realizing that she was awake.

_ Do not panic, Pallas… _

She took a breath just as she felt the enchantment break and reached for her wand in her robes to conjure the Bubble Head Charm. She panted looking around and trying to see through the murky depths of the Black Lake. The merman waited patiently as she got her bearings seeing Cho Chang and Fleur’s little sister.

Gabrielle, she thought floating beside her.

_ You know you… would be much better suited here, young Pallas...under the protection of your uncle’s people. _

Hermione watched his face, a little fightened at how close the merperson came, his eyes dragging over her. Green hair, yellow eyes and grey skin… They were Selkies, yet they spoke of Pallas. 

An uncle?

She swallowed, “What is it that you mean, good sir? When you call me Pallas?”

He seemed to smirk and drew his hand over her cheek.

_ As in days before, young Pallas… you are as pure as ever… _

Another swam up and spoke softly. Hermione breathed as the man smirked, dipping his head, the small circlet on his brow telling her that he was probably the next in line for power in the colony. Selkie royalty...and he seemed to have a minor obsession with her.

_ I must leave you, young Pallas, but rest assured I will return. _

She kept her mouth closed and turned her head looking up and trying to breathe around the panic. Who knew what time it was? She hadn’t been able to take her potion… It could be fine, it could not be. More importantly… if this merman leered at her like that, she had a feling that Viktor would have quite the time trying to rescue her. She looked around as she saw a figure swimming towards them. 

_ Cedric, _ she thought seeing him. His eyes widened seeing her, but he went on to get Cho free. The guards seemed uninterested in him.

She heard something screech in the distance and turned her head towards the flashing light.  It could be no one else, but Viktor. 

*

He was pretty sure that they were not supposed to be hindering him like this. The visage of a shark apparently meant nothing to them.  One of them, floated in the way, his trident pointed at him.

_ You must be here for Pallas... _ he said.  _ We were told that it would be a man… _

Viktor waited, frowning… Pallas...as in Pallas Athena? It seemed that her research on the journal and hypothesis about the Greek Gods had some merit.

_ You will have to prove yourself worthy...More worthy than me.  _

Viktor wondered if by some fucked up possibility that she was as alluring to most things, or whatever the hell else could be lurking in the magical world, but as the merman began to fire spells at him, cutting through the water, slicing through his shoulder, he moved, swimming as fast as he could and wondering what the hell he’d done wrong in a past life. He checked his watch and huffed, he was running out of time for his transfiguration and the challenge.  

The rock exploded behind him and he moved, swimming towards where he could smell her and gawked as she was clearly awake. What the bloody hell had they done?! She could have died!

A blast exploded over him, breaking the transfiguration and he felt himself reverting back to normal, scrambling for his wand to cast a back-up spell to at least keep his gills. 

When the rubble settled, the merman who’d been attacking him floated there, glaring at him.

_ Hephaestus… _

Another blast exploded across his chest with the merman glaring at him.

_ You would dare-- _

He flew aside and he looked up to see Hermione glaring, her eyes flashing through the dark her wand pointed towards them.

_ Pallas,  _ Viktor thought.  _ Athena. _

Viktor moved, swimming towards her despite the injuries to find that Gabrielle still floated there. He undid the shackle on Hermione’s leg, before moving to get Gabrielle. A merperson surged towards them and Viktor blasted them back, another and another and he checked his watch. They were running out of time and it was still a long swim to the surface. Blood clouded the water as grindylows swarmed attacking Hermione’s wand arm, biting hard as the merman who’d blasted Viktor came aiming for them both. 

Viktor grabbed her and Gabrielle as the blast burst Hermione’s bubble charm and tore through her leg and his side. 

_ Accio wand,  _ Hermione thought.

_ You won’t escape-- _

Viktor thrust his wand, blasting them and trying propel them forward. Hermione's wand fell from her hand, she wrapped her hand around Viktor's hand and twirled it casting a silent spell as he cast his own. Lightning surged, twisting through the water and shooting them towards the surface. When they broke the surface, it wasn’t a gasp of breath, but a cry of pain. Viktor stroked, pressing Hermione and Gabrielle close as he stroked towards the dock from what seemed miles away. 

“Come, glyka,” he panted. “We’re almost--”

“Viktor!”

Hermione pushed Gabrielle towards the pier so she could swim the distance before holding her breath and diving back under. His wand floated away as he thrashed against the hold of the merman who seemed hell bent on drowning him. His gills flattened into plan skin as Hermione snatched his wand out of the water as her own had still not risen from the depths yet. 

She felt it resonate warmth up her injured arm and she grabbed her wand as it flew towards her. She hadn’t tried duel casting, but she did it now, blasting the merman with both wands until he released Viktor. 

_ Surrender! _

They froze and Viktor looked at her, eyes glowing, glaring and pointing the wands at them, her and his blood tainting the water. She had lost more blood than was safe, as had he. They needed to get out of the water, to get help before they blacked out and drowned. They flinched back as the giant Squid let out a sound of warning through the water, maybe distressed at the scent of students' blood, maybe not. Viktor swam towards her, taking her by the waist and getting them to the surface. He lifted her out of the water and onto the pier to be seen by Madame Pomfrey. The towel they put around her turned blood red and as Viktor hauled himself out of the Lake with the help of Vlad and other Durmstang students, the Tri-Wizard committee convened for something about Viktor’s performance as he shoved Pomfrey’s hands away from him, trying to rouse Hermione from her unconcious state.

"Hermione? Hermione?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... yet another cliffhanger. :P


	22. Holy Grail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wakes up and of course there's still the 3rd Task to consider.

Hermione groaned, waking up feeling a little more than exhausted and the taste of a healing potion at the back of her mouth. It was dark in the infirmary, but she wasn’t alone surprisingly. Something warm in her hand, she looked down towards the hand to find Viktor’s dark head lying on her bed, hair messy with sleep and breathing deeply. His hand squeezed hers a little tighter and she smiled. 

She struggled to sit up and look around to figure out what happened. 

She remembered the cold water…

The selkie who’d called her Pallas…

_ Pallas Athena… _ What on Earth could that mean anyway? Hephaestus… his name had been in that little journal along with Pallas and several others. 

Ares

Ra… 

All these names from ancient myths and legends. She’d always had a theory about religions since she learned about the wizarding world, but there were just too many coincidences for her logical brain to be completely sold.

If she remembered properly, there was a story about Hephaestus attempting to force himself on Athena, but she would have to go looking through the journal to really figure out the significance of those names, of the dreams and so much more before she had any real grasp of the situation...that and Viktor wouldn’t hurt a fly.

_ Unless it asked for it, _ she thought, feeling her cheeks heat and she covered her face, so very glad that Viktor was sleeping. She looked over to Viktor and smiled moving to stroke his hair gently. He roused slowly, groggily sitting up to look at her. 

“Hi,” she greeted. 

Viktor let out a breath, surging up to pull her close, a hand in her wild curls and vibrating with a barely leashed energy that was something like terror. 

“Mila,” he said into her hair, shaking. “Are you okay? I’ll get--”

“Viktor,” she soothed, squeezing him back. “I’m just fine, I promise. What happened?”

Viktor sighed, not releasing her, taking to stroking her hair, “You lost a lot of blood in the water…You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Hermione nodded, she certainly felt it, somewhere between well rested and exhausted.

“What about… the challenge?” Hermione asked a little dazed. “What happened with that?”

Viktor shook his head, “I’m not sure. The committee has been in deliberation for quite some time, they brought Ministry officials down as well to get to the bottom of it all. Apparently, they  _ weren’t _ supposed to attack us.”

Hermione smirked, of course, they weren’t, but she doubted that they would answer any of their questions given how much merpeople, in general, hated most Ministries of Magic… except maybe the Greek one. 

“I’ve missed class for two days?”

Viktor laughed, “I’m sure that they’ll let you make it up… not that you need it.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple and bade her lay back down, “My grandmother has sent word to us both. Her and your grandfather will be here for the final challenge… along with my parents.”

Hermione squeezed his hand, “You’ll do just fine. Have you been eating? Sleeping at all?”

Viktor smirked, “Says the woman who has been unconscious for two days.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose and let him wrap her up in the sheets before climbing onto the cot with her and leaning her against him. 

“Get some more rest,” he said. “The Healer here will have several tests to put you through since you broke out of the enchantment underwater.”

Hermione nodded, “It isn’t meant for people like me… yet another bit of the wizarding world that doesn’t think about--”

She cut herself off and looked up at Viktor as he watched her, swallowing the word like a bitter tonic.

“About… mental illness.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead, “Good girl.”

*

In the end, the selkie people have nothing to say for themselves and don’t even bother to apologize. Whatever, they tell Dumbledore is enough to have the Ministry leave them alone and write the entire incident off as part of the Tri-Wizard Tournament’s dangers. The Daily Prophet was forced to keep the actual events underwraps besides the standing of each contestant and the fact that Viktor had in fact been injured. With that, Viktor and Cedric stood tied for first place leaving Fleur as third. 

The day before the Maze Viktor has to suffer a full day without her because she’s sitting for her exams with the seventh years. He finds himself outside in the courtyard reading through the books she’d given him to prepare for the final challenge with when an owl swooped down and landed beside him. 

He sat up, a little startled, “Boris! How on Earth did you get here?”

The great, dark-winged owl only regarded him plainly as he pet him gently and fished out a bit of meat for him before taking the letter. He tensed at the thought of who the letter could be from, but finding Sergei’s writing on the front made things significantly better.  He leaned back to read the letter in curiosity while stroking Boris’s feathers and snorted. It seemed that Sergei, along with the rest of his team would be arriving to watch the last Trial of the Triwizard tournament as it was just something that they couldn’t miss after reading Rita Skeeter’s retelling of the Yule Ball and the Second Task.  

_ We applaud your “moral fiber” Viktor, but about your very lovely Greek Goddess… _

He felt his cheeks heat and shook his head. They would be the death of him, but at least someone other than his parents would be there to cheer him on. With his grandmother and Hermione’s grandfather there it would be quite the showing. He felt he could use all of the real moral support that he could manage given that Igor had made sure to get his parents to floo in a few days early and  _ of course _ made him go to dinner with them. It had been the most stressful week of his life since meeting Hermione and gods how he was looking forward to working it off by working her over until she was a quaking mess…

Just as soon as her exams were over. 

He smiled wryly at that, always logical and responsible she was. Since waking up, she’d thrown herself back into school and preparations for the final task. It was hard to miss the fact the Quidditch Pitch was looking far more green than usual nowadays and even less time to surmise that  _ yes _ it would be a maze. 

_ How Greek of them, _ she’d quipped with that saucy smirk of hers. He closed his eyes against the wave of arousal and licked his lips. It was beyond unfair that he’d been forced to keep his hands relatively off her for the past few months as they prepared for the final task and got through their normal course load, not to mention her dueling schedule in preparation for the last duel of the year that would take place after the Maze Challenge.

The few moments that they’d managed to snatch together hadn’t been enough as it seemed that the entire school was against them finding any time alone… Karkaroff actually came to all of their meetings, making sure to have something for Viktor to do that would keep them separated. Hogwarts pulled her away just as often, if not more, for exams, homework, and other things. His palm was itching again and he took the time leading towards the last hour of her exam to plan exactly what he would do to her. 

Hours later it seemed, students came pouring out of the Great Hall and he stood with Boris perched on his shoulder to meet her at the doors. She seemed serene waving to other students that she knew by chance and laughing, bright and happy into the spring air. 

He smiled seeing her, marveling at how much she’d changed over the past few months. No longer ducking her attractiveness, shying away from attention if it wasn’t intellectual. She’d made more friends and generally seemed more steady in her life. Gryffindor, as a house, seemed to have warmed up to her and even her dueling had seemed to improve with the added dose of steady she was getting. 

_ Gods,  _ she was beautiful and… all his. He smirked seeing the rather nervous looking upperclassman trying to speak to her. She gave him a gentle smile, a nod, and a wave before turning to walk towards Viktor. The boy seemed to glare at him but turned away quickly. It seemed that he hadn’t been the only one to notice the transformation she’d seemed to be going through. 

“So… you have finished school, have you?” Viktor asked. 

She shrugged, “I guess so… I won’t know anything until results are in.”

“We should celebrate,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and taking her bag from her. 

For the first time, she didn’t fight him on it and he grinned at her, happy for it. 

“Celebrate?”

Viktor nodded, “My team and Coach should be--”

“VIKTOR!”

He flinched at the rising sound of giggling girls and boots rushing towards them. Hermione looked up to see the group and her eyes widened.

“Here already it seems,” Viktor said wryly gesturing to the group of men who were heading towards them while signing autographs, waving at fans. 

Mihkail smiled brightly making a group of girls sigh as Viktor shook his head. Mihkail was maybe the only Quidditch player he knew that could use his attractiveness and popularity as a shield rather than being cruhsed by it. His fame seemed to give him a wider berth rather than inspiring people to crowd him the way they crowded Viktor. 

He’d have to get the secret one day. 

“They seem to thrive in the celebrity light,” Hermione quipped.

“It’s an act. They’ve just had more time to play the role.”

Hermione isn’t sure what happened next but politely stepped aside as they grabbed Viktor by the shoulders, trapping his head in a headlock and began speaking quick and teasing Bulgarian to him. She smiled and laughed helplessly as Viktor flushed and griped back. She didn’t fully understand what they were saying but she knew horseplay and general brotherhood when she saw it. He was truly close to them and it warmed her heart to think that he hadn’t been completely alone. 

“They are fools,” Viktor said laughing and taking her hand to introduce her. “This is--”

“Your Grecian Goddess?” Mihkail asked in fluent Greek, grinning as the rest of them let out whistles and catcalls. Viktor flushed and stammered, firing something back at them and Hermione only offered her hand to Mihkail to shake. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mihkail. Viktor’s told me a lot about all of you.”

He grinned and kissed her hand politely, shocking her, “Thank you for taking care of our Viktor… he is so very helpless sometimes.”

Hermione smiled watching Viktor fend off the rest of his team’s jeering with hot, embarrassed Bulgarian. 

“They… love to tease him, don’t they?” Hermione asked. 

Mihkail laughed, “Not as much as Viktor likes to be teased. His own brothers are...well, unworthy of such a title.”

Hermione nodded, she’d heard about them from the little that Viktor told her of them. 

“We are taking you out to dinner! It’s the end of exams and that demands celebration!”

Hermione wasn’t prepared to go out with a group of celebrities anywhere, let alone to the rather upscale place they floo’d to. All she had was a relatively nice dress and sandals to wear from Greece in a deep red. From the way Viktor looked at her, she felt like she simply hadn’t worn enough. The Vratsa Vultures aren’t a rowdy bunch, but they are devilishly handsome, charming and all around teasing. She’s pretty sure that Viktor’s face isn’t supposed to match her dress, but it does by the end of the night. 

“It was very nice to meet all of you,” she said smiling up at them. They would be staying in Hogsmeade for the night and as they said something sly she felt Viktor growl, wrap an arm around her waist and escort her back towards the castle. 

“Are you okay?” She asked a little nervous. 

“No,” he said. “My team members are like brothers and my girlfriend is wearing a dress that makes me dizzy. I have not been able to touch you in months and the dau after tomorrow is the day of the final task…”

She frowned, trying to figure out what he meant, at least until they reached their study room. Viktor locked it behind them, warded it against entry and turned to her. 

“I had plans, mila,” he said honestly. 

“Wh-what sort of plans?”

The slow devilishly handsome smirk that carved its way onto his made her stomach twist and her heart jump. 

“I’m … so glad you asked.”

*

Hermione is sure that she’s never been so glad to be so dark. It’s probably the only thing that’s keeping her from blushing as Viktor gave her a knowing and sinful smile across the table the next evening. She kept her mouth shut and looked down at her plate, defiantly. 

“Are okay, mila?” Viktor asked grinning. 

Her eyes narrowed as she tried not to sit too heavily on her arse that was still smarting and pressure on the infuriatingly sensitive place between her legs. Viktor only smiled at her, knowing and downright prowling, teasing even. 

It was all his fault. 

His  _ plans _ had included pulling down her tights, spanking her over her dainty cotton blue underwear until she cried, and writhed around in his lap. When she was almost mindless and high on endorphins, he’d pulled her into his lap and set about driving her crazy, edging her with one large hand between her thighs, the other pinning her down. 

It seemed like it had been hours upon hours of torture until he stopped suddenly, leaving her teetering and sensitive on the edge of orgasm. It had been hell to let him put her back together and walk down to dinner with him grinning at her like that… the promise was there in his eyes to finish what he started but on his terms. 

She’d tried to recite the numbers of pi in her head but kept messing up whenever she had to shift or the sting distracted her from focusing. It seemed even worse having to keep up a conversation with the Durmstrang boys…Especially when they started asking about their relationship. 

“So, you and Viktor are rather controlled,” one of them said with a grin. “We have a bet going on how long it is before we catch you snogging.”

Hermione huffed and bit viciously into a roll. Viktor shoved him. 

“Do not tease her,” he said letting his eyes slide to her with a wink.

“Of course, of course,” Vlad said. “No doubt you do enough.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped as the table went up in laughter and Viktor whacked him on the shoulder. 

“Stop it,” he said. “She is already mortified.”

Vlad chuckled and looked at her, “My apologies, sestra. Has been… long time since have seen Viktor so happy… Victory coming… Is good.”

Hermione swallowed and finished eating, standing up and grabbing her bag. 

“I… I’m going to retire now.”

Viktor frowned and stood, going after her as she tried to escape as quickly as possible, he caught her hand gently and spun her back into him with a smile at the entrance to the Great Hall. 

“You are running from me,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll tell them to stop.”

Hermione shook her head, fidgeting, “I’m… I’m just highly distracted and you… you keep looking at me like that.”

Viktor nodded, “Will you still come to the study room?”

Hermione nodded hesitantly, “I still have to prep you.”

It’s a slow smile that makes her thighs clench and something in her burn, “Prep… right.”

Hermione turned defiantly and refused to turn back and glare at him as he laughed. She marched up to the Gryffindor tower to set her things down and try and get her head on straight. Her body didn’t seem to be having it and when she met him in their study room it had taken so little convincing to get her into his lap, so he could give her what he’d so cruelly withheld from her.

He reached for her leggings and pulled them down gently, splaying her on the couch with a kiss. 

“For being so good,” he said and she trembled beneath him. 

At the first touch, she heard the sound of Egyptian sheets, the whisper of them across the stone, the sound of her own moaning high and breathy in the night air. Moonlight spilling over them and filling the place with light….

A temple…

She saw a temple, felt pleasure washing over her. A shadowed face leaned over her leaning down just before the sound of yelling interrupting the magical moment and she screamed, a high fake shriek that startled Viktor. He jumped back looking at her to give her some air as Hermione surfaced from the vision and shook her head clear of the sounds and it all, her heart hammering in her chest and she looked at Viktor who watched her, hands up and frozen. 

“Mila?” He ventured. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, panting, “Yes… I…”

“I went too far?”

Hermione shook her head, moving across the couch to take a hand full of his robes, “No. I… I was in a vision I think.”

Viktor pulled her close, “This vision frightened you?”

She shook her head, “No… I.. I felt fine, I just. It was like I was reliving a moment, second by second. I have no idea what it was, though…”

He sighed and stroked her hair as they relaxed. 

“Sort of… ruined the mood didn’t it?”

He chuckled, “There will be time.”

Hermione swallowed and let him pull her tights back up over her ass and give her light smack to her backside. 

“Tempting, glyka.”

Hermione laughed, “Teasing.”

He smiled and grabbed the book she insisted they go over before the Maze challenge. They were about a page or two into the chapter she wanted him to look at when the knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in,” he said and looked over to see Vlad with a grimace. “What is it?”

“Your parents are here.”

Viktor tensed and Hermione looked up at him, “You have to go?”

Viktor swallowed and let out a breath, “Yes, it would be worse to keep them waiting.”

Hermione nodded and bookmarked the page, “Finish the chapter… send me a message if you need to, okay?”

Viktor sighed and pressed a kiss to her temple before allowing her out of his reach so she could stand. 

There was no doubt in his mind that they would have a lot to say about his “comportment” more than enough that his head would hurt and his palm would itch more than before. 

When he walked onto the ship, he didn’t even smile. He simply greeted them easily and waited, for as sure as they were here, sure that they would have plenty to say to fill a conversation. 

The words would have cut him to pieces, he was sure, but all they did now was make him angry. 

“Speak of her like that again and you will regret it,” he said evenly, shocking his father maybe who flushed and raised his hand. 

Viktor’s wand was at his throat, glaring at him, “I will not say it again.”

Ilka stormed off the ship and he passed Igor and his mother. He knew it wasn’t the end, there may even be a full on fight before the end, but he didn’t care. 

He finished the chapter and went to bed, sending just one last note to Hermione before doing so. 

_ Goodnight, sweet. _

*

Hermione stands with Esmerelda and Milo as the Headmasters and loved ones of each of the students say their last goodbyes before going to find their seats. The maze is simply. The one in the lead place would be allowed to chose thier entrance first, then the one in second place, then third. 

With Cedric and Viktor in a tie, they flipped a galleon for the right. Cedric won and picked the center path. Viktor picked the left most as planned and Fleur was left with the right most. Viktor took Hermione’s heads and pressed his forehead to hers. 

“I will see you soon, mila.”

She nodded and smiled up at him, “Go get your trophy.”

He grinned and nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before turning to usher her towards the stairs leading to where they would be sitting. Viktor turned towards his entrance and took a deep breath remembering everything that he’d been told about the maze, about mazes in general and prepared himself to enter as soon as they were given the sign. 

The pop of a spell signaled the start. Fleur went running in, Cedric did as well and Viktor walked in. Prey ran, predators prowled. He’d be damned if the foliage saw him as a prey. He kept his breathing slow, medatative and deep, slipping into some sort of trance perhaps as he followed his instincts through the maze. He heard it shifting behind him, closing off the way behind, but it didn’t matter. Something was tugging him forward. He heard her purring before he truly saw her, lounging carefully and looking at him, waiting for him. She smiled. 

“Are you not a sight for sore eyes?” She purred giving him a vicious smile full of teeth. “It has been too long since the likes of you have conversed with us.”

Viktor stepped forward, entering the circle of the sphinx’s domain as there was no way to move further into the maze without doing so. She purred again, regarding him. 

“Are you not as handsome as your ancestor?” she asked admiring him. “Or rather… your past.”

Viktor licked his lips as she offered him a smile, “You will learn and perhaps this once you will have what you have earned more than a flickering, stolen moment.”

He swallowed. 

“You have stepped into my circle, thus you must answer my riddle, young Olympian… pray you not so angry this time.”

He swallowed and frowned as the world shimmered a bit around him, something in him calling up a memory that was not his own. 

“Look,” she said softly. “How it shifts and hides as the other one who comes.  How it lasts and endures like all. How it tangles and fuses with the earth, giving it new life. How it hides and remembers, unveiling no more than ready.  How it hides in you, but cannot be seen. How fragile it is and how it slays in kind, ruins towns, gnaws iron, bites steel and beats high mountains down. What is it?”

He blinked, pondering the words. He took a seat in the circle and looked up at her. The words stroking the edge of his consciousness. He closed his eyes, trying to drown out the fear because the last thing that he needed was for this sphinx to eat him alive. 

_ She will not harm you. We are kin... _ a whisper came from beyond his memory. Persistent and heady, slipping around his shoulders a warm caress…

“A soul bond,” he heard himself say and looked up at the Sphinx.

She purred, “Good boy...always so quick to get the answer. Carry on.”

He swallowed and carried on, “Beware young Olympian.”

She looked over at him with a smile, “There are truths and lies in even turn lurking in the maze. Be sure of who you are lest it take everything you could be.”

He swallowed and nodded, journeying in the direction she allowed. Whether she did so to guide him the right way or perhaps lead him further into danger, he wasn’t sure, but he followed his instincts through the maze as a bright red flare went up above the maze. Who it was, he had no idea, but it meant that only he and one other person--

_ Move, _ the wind whispered and he found himself spinning out of the way a burst of acid that melted through the wall of foliage beside him. He looked up and brandished his wand to deflect the next burst of venom before he dove aside to press himself to the wall. 

_ For fuck’s sake… _

*

Hermione watched them drag Cedric out of the maze, burned across the face and shaking and took a breath. They’d been in there for hours it seemed, working their way through the maze. Esmerelda went down to help Cedric as Hermione and Milo watched on. 

“Viktor will… be okay, yes?” Milo asked. 

“And Fleur?”

Milo winced but nodded. 

Hermione took a deep breath again and gripped the railing watching what they could show via the magical projections. Both Viktor and Fleur had made it too far into the maze to be observed anymore. She knew somehow that Viktor was going to run into the Sphinx… They hydra plants being the next…

_ Please just… defend yourself. _

*

Viktor choked on a groan, blood dribbling down his chin as he was thrown into a stone wall hard enough to stun him for a second. It was by sheer luck that he rolled off the wall in time to avoid the plant. He shook his head free, murmuring a healing spell that Hermione had taught him, it was enough to clear his mind and piss him off. That stupid plant….

_ Xifos! _ He heard a voice calling from somewhere in him and watched his wand light up with flame in the form of a sword.  While he quite usually would ask questions, he didn’t bother to right now. Instead, he swung at the head of the plant, severing it easily and watched the other head hiss in agony, but nothing regrew. 

_ Huh... _ wasn’t there a--

He rolled out of the way of another shot of venom and swung over his head, his eyes darting towards the pathway the plant guarded and rolled again, using the force to drag his flaming wand through the plant and tumbling through the passageway. He heard the plant crying out in pain, a flurry of leaves and noise rattling, following him as he ran down the corridor. 

The walls were apparently pissed off with him again and that kept him running, tumbling in forward as the corridor closed behind him and he tumbled into a pool of water. His wand seemed completely unaffected, but the water seemed to be enchanted in some way. 

He watched an image of a chariot thunder by, heard the sound of battles a hundred times over and as he surfaced he gained a sinking feeling in his gut. He swam to the edge, pulled himself out and looked up to see a woman standing there, just a faint impression of a woman there and for the first time, he saw her face… the woman from all of his dreams.

She looked….

Nothing like Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me?


	23. Set The Pace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How is he supposed to face Hemione now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry everyone, really. Life has just been crazy. On a brighter note, I have a beta and she is amazing! Thank you, Bess!

Hermione wasn’t sure what to think when Viktor appeared, clutching the Triwizard cup. Fleur arrived, looking a little worse for wear as well and while Viktor was very clearly beaten down by the challenge, the look on his face wasn’t one that should match the newest Triwizard Champion’s victory.

He looked… horrified. Guilty, maybe?

Hermione went down with Milo to shake Viktor out of his stupor. He looked at her as if he had never really seen her, or perhaps he had always imagined someone else standing in her place. Rather than explore the uncanny feeling he gave her, he gave her a smile, hugged her gingerly, and ignored the protests his injuries offered. 

“Hello, Hermione,” he said as she squeezed him gently and moved to take part of his weight as his strength began to wane. 

She hesitated at the quality of his voice for just a moment before guiding him to the nearby bench for treatment. Durmstrang cheered their victory and generally showed how proud they were of Viktor. They were loud enough to almost make her forget how the sound of her name had made her concerned, for just a moment longer than it should have.

Her hand on his shoulder kept him out of memories, but did nothing for his mood. 

With the Tournament over, all that was left was the celebration, the final dueling match, and graduation weeks after which Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were set to return for their own graduations. Hermione stayed with Viktor while he rested in the Infirmary, conversing with Milo and Esmerelda as they watched over their champions. It was strange knowing that that they were all from different schools, that they’d all had their reservations about these partnerships in the beginning , yet they were all here because they had really grown to care about their champions. It seemed that the Ministry was on to something with their matching spell to turn six student from three competing schools into friends in just a year.

Hermione looked at Viktor who slept relatively peacefully, bandages glowing over his injuries. When he opened his eyes he smiled but he could only manage a small one. His eyes, as dark as always, looked at her with a certain kind of resignation. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked gently. “Triwizard Champion?”

His lips twitched and he sat up with a groan, “I… I feel okay.”

Hermione nodded hesitantly, “Are you… are you okay?”

“I’m fine, mila,” he said weakly. “Just… settling.”

Hermione licked her lips and nodded, squeezing his hand instead of pressing further. Something was telling her that he was lying, but it meant nothing if she didn't call him on it and he remained silent.

Luckily for Viktor, they didn’t have time to think about it before the swarm of people, benign, neutral, and malicious descended on him as soon as it was clear that he was conscious. He was only glad that he had at least kept his parents and Karkaroff away from Hermione. Soon after Madame Pomfrey released him, the celebration began. It was so loud that it almost drowned the jealousy and rage surrounding them. 

A traitor to Hogwarts.

Another celebrity getting his way.

A traitor to women.

A typical user.

A hypocrite…

It was amazing that no one thought that Viktor had won simply because he was more handy with a wand or that he was as intelligent as he was. Most people mistook him for just an athlete when in reality he was so much more. Viktor was brilliant on and off a broom. 

It was even more incredible that they thought Hermione remained true to her task out of any concern for Viktor’s fame or attractiveness. If she were another woman, she may have been truly insulted by their ignorance. As it stood, she merely pitied their narrow view of the world.

The only people grateful for her aid and her part in Viktor’s victory were Viktor and the Durmstrang students as they would be taking the cup back to their school. She and Viktor would have eternal fame and prize money. She thought it almost funny how very serious he looked when they were called up for pictures and asked questions.

“Shouldn’t you be happier?” Hermione asked him humorously.

“I am happy that we won, I am not happy for the trouble it will cause me.”

She smiled and nudged him a bit, “The crown is rather heavy.”

He glowered at her as she laughed and they could finally return to their seats a good deal richer and more famous. 

In the morning, whatever distance had grown between them seemed to have evaporated. Viktor took her hand to escort her around the castle. They still sat outside to read and train with the rest of Durmstrang.  It’s nice, but it did nothing for the feeling that that something was still wrong. 

Tonight was the night before her final duel as a member of the Gryffindor Dueling Team. Should she win, she would be creating a record for future girls on any Hogwarts dueling team while securing the Dueling and House Cup for Gryffindor. It would also be the last time she wore the uniform that she had grown fond of over the last four years. 

“Viktor?” She began, coming into the Room of Requirements to see him staring into the fire, a box beside him.

“Hello, mila,” he said gently, smiling at her and extending his hand to beckon her around the couch he sat on. 

“Is… everything okay?”

“Of course,” he said. “My parents are leaving in two days. I wished it were sooner but they wanted to see your match.”

She ducked her head, “Your… parents.”

Viktor nodded, “Apparently, they’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“From you?”

“From Karkaroff,” he said. “I don’t talk to my parents.”

Hermione nodded and took his hand to squeeze, “It hasn’t gotten any better?”

She would have thought that there would have been at least a little bit of progress in that arena.

“From the way things are turning out, and some whispers in Bulgaria, I don’t believe that it ever will.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. They'd talked about the rumor of a new Marriage Law passing through every country’s legislature  after the lack of wizarding births had become public knowledge, but she didn't understand what it would matter to Bulgaria. As a country, they didn’t suffer the same issues as London or even France in terms of birth rates. Bulgaria had a reasonable balance of purebloods and everyone else as did Greece and most of Eastern Europe for that matter. Now that she thought about it, it was really only Western Europe who were having the issues the new Marriage Law was supposed to fix.

“I’m sorry… is there anything I can do?”

Viktor smiled, “I have a gift for you.”

Hermione looked at him as he picked up the box and handed it to her. 

“The first of many, but I… wanted to see how you would react to this one first.”

Hermione worried her lip and opened it. For a moment, she can only tilt her head as she was not entirely sure what it was. Luckily, before she could pull it out fully, guess or even ask, Viktor spoke.

He smiled, “English dueling skirts are traditionally worn with high socks and gartered shorts that were charmed to keep your skirt from flying up.”

Her cheeks heated and she cleared her throat.

“Yes, I read that.”

It had been one of the more interesting facts of wizard dueling history that she'd come across. Sometime before the current century, English dueling gear companies stopped making, convinced that there weren’t women dueling anymore.

“They still make them in Eastern Europe,” he said. “It’s a very old charm--the best.”

She smiled and looked down at it, “Thank you, Viktor...I don’t know what to say.”

“Well… perhaps you should look into the rest of the package and then thank me.”

She closed her eyes moments after she found exactly why he would say such a thing. In her mind’s eye, he was grinning that cocky, lascivious grin that made her stomach flip, but she didn't dare look at him to be sure.

“You…”

“They came together,” he said as she shut her mouth with a click. “Would you wear them for me?”

Hermione blinked, unable to answer that. Sure, it would go a long way towards ending her dueling career at Hogwarts with a flair, but  _ would  _ she? This Hermione was completely new to her. Daring, yes, but that fearless? She wasn’t sure.

Viktor took her silence as a good sign. Flat out refusal meant he had gone a bit too far in pushing her out of her comfort zone. Quiet contemplation, no matter how embarrassed she looked, meant that at the very least he'd pushed her right to the edge. Rather than push any farther, he dropped a kiss to her forehead and watched her examine the pieces with her usual attention to detail.

The set was beautiful. Well-made, perhaps even hand crafted. She was pretty sure that she isn’t supposed to have matching lingerie specifically for dueling that are so beautiful, but they were a gift from Viktor. Aside from the impracticality of have underwear specifically for dueling, there was something taboo about having them. Something delightfully feminine too. 

She did start this to make a point that being a girl and being non-competitive, incompetent, and defenseless were not mutually inclusive. Having a full uniform, visual and not, that reflected that would make sense.

But would she ever convince herself to wear this?

Viktor shifted a bit in his seat, growing uncomfortable in the silence. Not that he hadn’t imagined her in it when he bought it along with the others, but as Hermione sunk deeper into contemplation it only allowed his brain to go back to the dream he’d had several--

“Have you finished applying for the Healer’s School you wanted to go to?” Viktor asked. 

She looked up at him sharply, yanked from her thoughts, and nodded, “I’m just… waiting on my exams and for them to request recommendations from my professors…”

And call her in for an interview. 

And actually want her to come. 

And--

Viktor smiled, “You will be fine.  They would be fools not to bring you in.”

Hermione swallowed and leaned on him, keeping the box in her lap. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her close. 

“Thank you, Viktor,” she said. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever felt as free as I have since meeting you in person.”

Viktor smiled, though his heart twisted painfully. 

“Me either.”

Hermione smiled as they watched the fire quietly. When the curfew hour neared, Viktor walked her up to the Gryffindor tower, kissed her goodnight, and wandered back to the ship for a long night of sleep. 

*

“Sexy,” Faye commented seeing Hermione walk down the stairs in her dueling uniform. “Very sexy. Loving the new look.”

Hermione nodded and let out a breath, “Very traditional English dueling style…”

Faye snorted, “It’s a wonder that wizards didn’t keep up the practice of different uniforms.”

“In some places they do,” Hermione said walking out with her and adjusting her cloak. “Like Greece. Their uniforms are a lot lighter though and less rigid too.”

When McGonagall had recommended that she take up professional dueling when she left Hogwarts, it had been the woman’s first suggestion. There were several teams all over the world that could use her talent, but knowing that Hermione’s grandfather was in Greece she’d suggested Greece first. Hermione had promptly gone to research it and even took a trip to the International Dueling League office in Greece over the summer. The man who greeted her knew of her from McGonagall and was more than excited about the prospect about her joining the team. 

The man had been very informative about the origin of the thigh highs and garters starting with a duelist who’d made it a point to wear her femininity with pride as she trounced her male opponents. It had been so well received that it became part of the tradition. Over the years, Greece had modified the difference in the male and female uniforms to be more inline with Greek culture, but they always paid homage to the original.

It could have been her Greek sensibilities, but she really did prefer the Greek take on it.

“Sweet.”

They made it to the Great Hall without much delay, but it seemed that everyone was interested in the slight change to Hermione’s dueling uniform. Her usual leggings had been the same color as her boots. Her thigh high socks were Gryffindor red made her legs look longer, accentuating their strength and adding a nice touch to the battle ready look of her boots.  The flash of the gold garter clasps at the top of her socks drew the attention of almost every male student in attendance. It was distracting, inviting and hell on Viktor’s nerves. 

_ For the love of Merlin, _ he hadn’t thought that decision through completely had he? He was supposed to be supporting her in her final match with the Gryffindor team. How was he supposed to pay attention with her legs looking like that? 

“Your Greek Goddess is in top form,” Mihkail teased and Viktor rolled his eyes as the two teams greeted one another and the matches began. Hermione wasn’t in the first heat for triples or singles, but she sat on the sidelines beyond the barrier with a cool and assessing gaze. 

The matches weren’t going well. Slytherin had been training hard with the additions of some very harsh hexes that slipped just short of  being illegal. It would be tough, especially since she would be in the heat with Violet and Anthony. Anthony could cast powerful spells but he wasn’t the quickest. Violet was just a first year and while she caught on well, going up against a seventh, a sixth, and a fifth year was going to be tricky. 

“It seems like Gryffindor is going to have a bit of a problem this time round,” Petya said.

Viktor licked his lips but continued watching as the first heat ended and it was time for the start of singles matches. If he remembered the English rules for dueling, the winner of this particular match would be decided in the second heat of triples. Hermione won her match against Draco with her usual speed and sent him tumbling out of bounds. 

“Payback?” Milo asked sitting beside Viktor. He shrugged. Considering Draco and Hermione’s past, and their relationships with Harry, there was no telling what moment had sparked this particular trouncing. 

Hermione laughed and helped Draco off the ground. 

“Bloody Granger…”

“Tsk, tsk, it’s not nice to blame your distraction on me.”

Draco flushed, stammering to find a come back, as she walked away to rally up her team. She looked to Violet who beamed. 

“Just like we practiced.”

“Practiced what?” Anthony asked, looking at the three they’d be facing off against soon. 

“Hermione and I have been practicing my defensive magic!”

She nodded and turned to Anthony, “Just keep on your toes.”

Anthony forced a short breath between his teeth, “We’re… we’re going to win.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “We are.”

She looked over to where Draco sat casting furtive glances at Harry who only beamed victoriously and wondered what kind of bet or agreement they’d made for the outcome of this match.

*

Hermione removed her cloak and set it on the bench, following Anthony onto the dueling strip to face the three Slytherin contenders. She took a deep breath and watched the wall go up. Anthony took center and the waited for the go.

The signal went off and immediately, Violet threw up the barrier spell between them, Hermione cast her own shield and combined their shields were large enough to cover themselves and shield Anthony. Anthony moved forward, casting his own spells around the shield that seemed to be cut down by the seventh year with an sleazy smirk. The sixth year continued to bombard Violet’s shield and while it was strong it would not be strong enough for much longer.

“Anthony, aim at Daughtry!” Hermione told him, keeping an eye on Violet’s shield as it cracked.

Anthony tried, but the seventh year deflected his attempts. Violet gasped as her shield broke, leaving her open. Anthony dove in front of her to deflect the spell and Hermione shifted her shield to cover him.

Hollengard, the seventh year, smirked and fired at Hermione. The spell went straight for her wand hand and seized it, washing black light and horror over her. Viktor’s heart jumped, watching her fall to her knees, gripping her wand even as the curse threatened to take over her. She glared at the seventh year, still working his hex while the other two kept Violet and Anthony busy. She grit her teeth and pushed herself to her feet, stepping forward and gripping her wand as tight as she could before gathering magic in her hand and punching through the dark beam connecting them. The other’s jaw dropped as the hex fizzled out and she cradled her hand to her chest, panting.  He raised his wand to cast another hex and she stumbled aside it, dizzy with pain and trying to pry her wand free only to see it turn to dust in her hand.

_ Technicality, _ Henry winced. It was a bitch of a technicality, a cowardly one to exploit too. Disarming for dueling purposes literally meant to remove a wand from use through removal from a hand. The rules said nothing about a wand being destroyed in the midst of a match and as there were no allowances for substitutes, such a technicality would keep Hermione on the strip but relatively useless and defenseless as anything but a shield. They would have to knock her out of bounds in order for her be out of the match and there was no way they would do that. Perhaps, if she was going up against a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff, they would have, but these Slytherins seemed to be descendants of Salazar himself. They’d make an example out of her, force her concede defeat rather than force it from her. Henry supposed it was because she’d been handing them their arses for four year straight that the opportunity for a truly humiliating payback was too tempting.

Her record undone in her final match. It was so Slytherin that it made his stomach crawl. 

_ How long had they been working on a spell to do this? _

“What… what just happened?” Odin asked Henry.

Henry let out a breath, “It’s … a technicality. If a wizard is disarmed, they forfeit their place in the match. If their wand is damaged however, incapable of magic, they must elect to forfeit or be knocked out of bounds.”

“But she doesn’t even have a  _ wand  _ anymore. _ ” _

“That’s why it’s a technicality,” Henry said. “Hermione’s our fastest spell caster.”

Odin knew that. The students all knew that. But what good was enchantment speed without a wand?

Hermione grit her teeth trying to move her fried hand. Every movement sent shots of pain up her arm, stiffening further until she’d extended her fingers and found that they wouldn’t move again, nor her wrist. Paralyzed, she supposed, were better than disintegrated. 

“No wand and no wand hand…” the seventh year laughed. “I’ll give you a minute to give up.”

Hermione glared at him.

“You can take my wand,” Violet offered.

“Anthony needs your shield,” Hermione said. “I’ll be fine.”

She licked her lips and breathed. She still had her left hand and an idea of what to do to make this work.

Minerva pat Henry on the shoulder, “This… is not what I expected.”

“Perhaps Anthony…”

A gasp went around the room as the next spell the seventh year fired was swatted out of the air by Hermione’s left hand, flying into the containment ward and dissolving. The Slytherin’s eyes widened and he fired again only to have it swatted away again. Hermione drew a length of white light from her fingertips and wrapped it carefully around her hand and down to her wrist. The stiffness seemed to stop there and the pain ebbed. 

“What’s the plan?”

“Take out the stooges first.”

Violet nodded, casting her shield charm again and following Anthony as he advanced and Hermione stared down the seventh year who threw hex after hex hoping that one would stick. Rather than swatting them away, she’d taken to dodging them, distracting the seventh year from her teammates who were having a hell of a time with the fifth and sixth year with only Anthony there to cast spells.

There’s a moment of silence before Hermione realized that the universe was truly testing the Gryffindor name today. The stunning spell that knocked Antony to the ground only barely missed the edge of Violet’s shield. As the fifth year began to celebrate, Violet’s stunning spell knocked him out of bounds securing a relatively even fight. She watched the two remaining Slytherin students flush with rage as she crossed the strip to stand beside Violet. 

“Any thoughts?” Violet asked as the Slytherins raised their wands.

“Win,” she said simply. “And here’s how.”

*

Viktor isn’t sure what happened. First Violet cast a flash of light and they both vanished leaving Anthony splayed out, still stunned on the floor. The two Slytherins tensed and looked around carefully and kept their backs to one another. 

Footsteps—they fired left.

Footsteps—they fired right.

Blasts of magic coming from both sides  swarming  them so fast that they could barely keep up. Some of it seemed harmless, like puffs of smoke, but some of it tore up the ground at their feet making them step closer and closer together.

“Incarcerous!” Violet’s voice called, ropes flying out to bind them together.

A blade of light came silently from the left, knocking the seventh year’s wand out of his hand before curving and hitting the sixth years as well. The invisibility enchantment wore off to reveal Hermione with  her left hand glowing with light, her right  bent across her chest, holding a large shield of light between them and the two who’d been tied up. Violet crouched beside her, panting, but the win was theirs by a landslide.

“Girl Power!” Violet cheered and Hermione high-fived her with her left hand before dissolving the shield.

Viktor and the rest of Durmstrang clapped and cheered as the two curtsied politely and helped Anthony off the ground.

“Quite a Grecian Goddess you have there,” Milo teased with a grin. “Seriously… wandless, nonverbal magic?”

Viktor shook his head.  He could be surprised but in reality there was nothing that Hermione could do that should surprise him any longer. 

*

“You will need to purchase a new wand, Miss Granger,” Madame Pomfrey said. Hermione gave out a snort at her wry tone as Madame Pomfrey inspected the glowing bandage around her right hand. “Though given your mastery of this particular charm… I would suspect you are well on your way to learning rather high level wandless healing magic.”

Hermione smiled lightly as Viktor came into the Infirmary to collect her and escort her to dinner. Her bandage would heal her hand just fine in 24 hours. Viktor took her cloak, put it around her and escorted her to the Great Hall where the Gryffindor table went up with cheers at their entry. A small voice in her head told her to hex them all for being such flaky housemates. The more mature side told her that she wouldn’t be their housemates much longer so it hardly mattered how inconstant they could be.  She had no doubt that there would a great many more female duelists trying out in future years. Girls walking the hallways with their heads held high for being different.

For being themselves. 

It was a good feeling and she smiled as Viktor let her go and returned to the Durmstrang side who were cheering for her as well. He said goodbye to his team members and his grandmother that night before they left, not bothering to send his parents off, but being content at them leaving the grounds.

Before they realized it, it was the end of the semester. Minerva took Hermione to Ollivander’s to procure a new wand. He tutted at the news and mosied around the shop to find her a new wand. It took several hours to go through the wands until he paused and shook his head.

“I must be crazy in my old age… but perhaps…”

He turned then as Hermione chuckled helplessly and Minerva shook her head, just as helpless. From what Minerva remembered, it had taken just as long to procure her wand when she’d broken her first wand. It was good to know that somethings just never changed.

“You have changed greatly, Miss Granger, it stands to reason that your wand affinity would have too.”

Hermione nodded, knowing the truth of that statement. She’d felt it before she and Viktor had even met.  Ollivander returned with a box, shaking his head.

“This is not a wand that I created, nor any Ollivander,” he explained. “It was traded to my family generations ago while traveling in the East.”

Intrigued, Hermione opened the ornately carved box. The top was heavier than the standard wand box. The cushion beneath the wand was of an older make and a higher quality than Ollivander’s usual packaging. It was beautiful, but nothing compared to the wand inside. 

“Quite a wand, is it not?” Ollivander asked, looking at it with a fond smile. 

The handle was carved with finely detailed vine and olive branches. Owls rested on the branches and looked up at her with shiny, lacquered eyes. One blinked and ruffled its feathers, startling her. She looked up at Ollivander who seemed to still be mesmerized by the wand, before looking back down at it. Along the sides of the wand were weapons carved towards the end of the wand. It was just as long as her old wand, but even without touching it she could feel the power it held.

This wand was as Greek as her grandfather. How could such a treasure have ended up so far from home?

_ Well Hermione, how did you end up here? _ She smirked wryly at that. It wasn’t often that the other parts of her, the other Hermiones, were snarky with her, let alone complimented her. 

_ Touche. _

“Well, my dear, go on,” Ollivander urged. 

She reached for it and before she could take hold of it, she felt the warmth spreading over her hand, up her arm towards her heart. It felt like the first she’d chosen a wand but stronger. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling wash over her and something fit into place. The wand hovered out of its box and into her hand easily, a tidal wave of power washing over her and making her dizzy.

Ollivander hummed decisively, closed the box, and handed it to her.

“By all means,” he said. “Take it. I have a feeling that there is no one else in the world who could wield it.”

She took the box with a thanks and reached for the coins in her pocket. 

“No need, “ the old man said. “That wand has been waiting a long time for you and whether it was here in my shop or halfway across the world, it would have found you.”

She thanked him again and waved him goodbye. 

Viktor found her later and walked the grounds with her. With a little work, he convinced her to go flying with him again. Though it felt like Viktor was saying goodbye, Hermione found it much easier to relax on the broom with him. She trusted him. 

“Baba says that you are welcome to visit this summer,” Viktor said as they flew over the Black Lake. “I will be staying in Greece with her.”

She smiled, something dark and resigned settling in her chest changing the edges of her tone, “Here I was feeling like you were preparing to say goodbye.”

Viktor’s lips twitched.

_ Not yet, _ he thought, “You think I could say goodbye so soon?”

“You’ve been drawing away from me.”

Viktor shook his head, “I have… needed some time after the Maze.”

“Will you tell me about it one day?”

Viktor squeezed her hand, “One day.”

*

She held the journal, small and blank. She'd already linked it to one of her own, but she had only just made the decision to give it to him that morning before the sun had risen. She’d been reading the antique journal he’d given her, researching the places and things mentioned in it while trying to recreate what she assumed was the journal’s magical linking feature. She’d done it but still wasn’t sure if giving it to Viktor would be worth it. That niggling feeling in her gut still haven’t gone away. They hadn’t talked about what happened in the maze yet either and why he looked so haunted and guilty sometimes.

_ Goodbye, _ she thought as the early summer breeze lifted her cloak around her and students swarmed the docks to say their last goodbyes.

She heard promises to write, promises to keep in touch, promises to visit and tightened her hand on the journal. It felt like a lump in her throat, a knife in her heart, and tasted bittersweet, yet it went no deeper than the surface. She felt relaxed, removed from it. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. Perhaps she needed a stronger dose or was it symptomatic of something else? Perhaps--   

“Sestra!”

She turned and grinned,  hugging Vlad and the other Durmstrang boys who squeezed her tight and thanked her profusely. It was Petya who suggested that she meet up with them and Viktor that summer.

“We will see each other again,” Hermione promised.

“Before wedding, yes?’

Hermione’s jaw dropped as they laughed. Viktor came towards them, grinning.

“Are they teasing you?” Viktor asked.

“Always.”

Someone catcalled and she shook her head. Viktor pulled her close to drop a kiss into her hair.

“Good luck on your applications,” he said. “We will see each other soon.”

She nodded and offered him the journal.

“I worked out the charm on that journal you gave me and thought,” she paused and shrugged. “We should give it a try instead of notes appearing at potentially inopportune times.”

He took the journal and looked at her. Their eyes met but he couldn’t see himself reflected in her eyes, nor glean anything from her expression. It seemed that her eyes were closed to him. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one saying goodbye. The horn blared telling them that it was time to leave. He thanked her for the journal and kissed her once more. 

For a moment, Hermione wasn’t on the docks of Hogwarts. The Scottish sea air was replaced by the warmth of the Mediterranean and sand. Egypt maybe? Greece perhaps. Wherever the vision had taken her, she was still kissing someone she loved goodbye. Though her eyes are open, she cannot see Viktor, but a face obscured from memory and backlit by the sun’s rays. 

“ _ Goodbye, _ ” she said to the vision and Viktor. 

She waved the Durmstrang ship goodbye as the vision and present slowly began to meld together. By the time the vision retreated, she was alone on the docks and the Durmstrang ship’s flag was just a speck of color in the distance.

She turned from the docks to head back inside, heedless of the tears that had fallen and never knowing that as soon as Viktor disappeared beneath the deck he went to his room, glanced at the Triwizard trophy, hung his head, and sobbed.


	24. Can't See Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graduation is a pretty big thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Bess for your editing eye! You're teaching me so much just be beta-reading!

It was strange to think that this would be the last time Hermione would ever stay in Gryffindor Tower. It was the last night and she was up wandering around the castle. It wasn’t entirely her fault, or the fault of her illness this time. It was something that Professor Dumbledore had said to her that kept her awake tonight.  

_ Sometimes the path to eternity is neither as straight as some would hope nor as straight as you see it,  _ he’d told her after finding her sitting alone in the courtyard, practicing spells with her new wand. 

The man was brilliant, but Hermione would have appreciated if he could be a little more direct in his conversation. Or at least answer her questions about what he meant. If he had, she probably would have been asleep instead of wandering quietly through the castle long after curfew. She walked until she happened upon the classroom she and Viktor had spent countless hours in preparing him for the tasks. The prize galleons in her trunk were a small consolation to the fact that she wouldn’t be seeing him again for quite some time. It may have been for the best, time to get her head on straight, to give her some time to control the urges that Viktor inspired in her. 

_ Some time to cool off,  _  she thought, pressing a hand to her chest in hopes to calm her heart’s racing. It had all felt like a whirlwind since the Yule Ball. A romantic one, for sure, but intense and out of control--like catching lightning in a bottle.

Some time to think. It didn’t feel like she’d been doing much of that lately. How could she with Viktor’s hands on her, his voice in her ears, his scent in her nose? Yes, she needed time to think.

**_Perhaps for him too,_** that sneering voice said. She was lucky that she’d learned how to shove the voices back before they got too nasty, but she didn’t need it to finish the thought to know what it was. 

He was Viktor Krum, international Quidditch player, very eligible pureblood from another country.

**_There are a million witches in the world that--_ **

_ He’d promised that he’d write _ , she reminded herself. 

**_Harry and Ron say the same thing every year,_** she groaned, closing her eyes. She definitely needed to revisit her potions recipe and speak with Madame Pomfrey about ways to strengthen it. Before the potions, she didn’t need a change in prescription any more frequent than every five years or so. The changes to the muggle prescription hadn’t been to the dosage but to the base chemicals. Perhaps with her interaction with magic and her changing hormones she needed a stronger dose too. 

She shuddered at the spike of fear the thought brought. She wasn’t even completely clear of puberty yet. What if she needed a dosage uppage every  _ year _ from now on? What if she reached a potion strength cap--

**_Viktor has his own problems to deal with._ **

_ He promised that nothing would change, _ she thought, desperately. 

All she heard was that cold callous laughter that sounds a lot like--

“I’m beautiful,” she said quietly. 

**_After all, he only needed you for the tournament._ **

“I’m brilliant.”

**_It’s a wonder he managed to put up with you this long._ **

She pressed her hands to her ears and her eyelids more firmly together.

“I’m not mental,” she said, desperately to the dark. 

**_Are you going to cry you, freak?_ **

“I-I’m strong.”

**_The fantasy is over,_ ** a voice like Molly’s scolding. Her fists tighten at it.

She knew what he looked like, what he smelled and tasted like now. It was hardly a fantasy now even though they’d returned to paper correspondence with the help of the journals she’d created.

“I’m beautiful. I’m brilliant. I’m not mental. I’m strong.”

She kept repeating it, just loud enough to drown out the laughter, the voices. 

_ I’m not mental. I’m strong. I’m strong. I am strong. _

Quiet. Just the silence of the corridors and the movements of ghosts. She let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps the mantra was not as effective as it had been when he was near, but it was enough. 

“I am enough,” she said and pressed her hand to the door. 

It opened easily, allowing her to look around the room with a misty smile. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks and walked in.  In place of the chalkboard there was a great mirror on the far wall. She approached it and considered her reflection with confusion. Rather than her school robes, her reflection wore flashing armor over a short chiton and carried a shield with the image of a gorgon on it. In place of her wild hair, was a sphendone-bound style similar to the one she wore to the Yule Ball.

_ Athena, _ she thought, but there was something else in the image. Her hand glowing with light even though she wasn’t carrying a wand. The Athena with her face turned as another figure appeared. 

_ Viktor? _ Hermione tilted her head.

No. He wasn’t Viktor exactly. Clean shaven, his nose still hooked slightly, but not crooked from one too many Bludgers to the face. He wore a short chiton, a hammer in his hand, soot on his brow, his long hair pulled back from his face with a thin tie and a few wavy tendrils framing his face. When Athena turned towards him, he placed his hammer in the loop on his belt.

The man kissed Athena’s cheeks and went about straightening her armor, tightening it in places, kissing her neck until she smiled. She held her arms out as if asking for approval. He nodded with a smile and began to remove it. The armor fell off piece by piece and was set aside. Their lips moved in conversation as he pointed to places in the armor. The pieces glowed as he spoke and Athena nodded.  He moved his hammer from the belt on his hip to the rack and they walked further into the room. To Hermione it looked like a small forge with a pile of cushions and blankets beside the fire. The man sat down and pulled Athena into his lap. 

Hermione sat down in front of the mirror, watching with interest. Another couple, a different her and a different him. Darker from the sun’s heat, carrying swords and less armor, but it was the same. They were together, enjoying peaceful moments… growing old together, reading from the notebook in her pocket.

She licked her lips. There was something familiar about the room they were sitting in and the other settings that came into the mirror. She gasped seeing the pantheon from her most frequent dream and shook her head. 

She didn’t know what exactly the mirror did, but she didn’t believe in coincidences when  it came to magical objects, illusions, or anything of the wizarding world. She knew that she had yet to see the man from her dreams. She had not seen Viktor in any of her dreams either. It would make sense to project Viktor into her dreams, her desires, but this wasn’t Viktor and this wasn’t a dream. She drew back from the mirror. To see a vision so fulfilling, so much like a dream that she wanted, made her wary. Like a mirage, or worse, she blinked and took another step back from the mirror, prepared to turn away from it before any of her internal voices had something to say about it.

_ It’s not real, _ she thought, swallowing the longing. Magic and mental illness did not go well together, there were too many unknowns and something like this mirror that could project and manipulate her dreams into whatever the visions were was dangerous. All she needed was for her potion to be a little ineffective and the mania to set in. She could very well lose her life in the pursuit of, or obsession with, any of those visions. 

“The Mirror of Erised.”

She turned, seeing Dumbledore come towards her. 

“Erised? Is that a person’s name?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m trying to figure out what the mirror does,” she said turning back, her eyes flickering over the words. “Those words aren’t a language.”

“Very clever.”

Hermione sighed, looking back to the mirror. The pantheon had vanished and had been replaced by a lake that she had never seen before. From the clothing of the Hermione and the man in the mirror, it was of a different time. She would guess sometime in the fifteen hundreds. The Hermione in the mirror was wrapped in a blanket, the two of them were leaned together with their hands interlaced. 

“Erised… Desire?” Hermione said. “The Mirror of Desire?”

More importantly, the Mirror of Desire’s reflection. While mirrors were supposed to reflect back the truth, they could also lie in the wizarding world. She had a feeling that this mirror was created to be somewhere in between. Desire was a tricky thing to pin down and dangerous to dangle in front of anyone like this. Most of the world simply desired to find their soulmate and live their lifetimes with them age after age. It made sense that this mirror would project this illusion of her and Viktor through the ages. The ability to pull from her dreams made it even more dangerous. 

“Right you are, Miss Granger. It is a rather dangerous thing. No one really knows who made it or why, but it shows only the heart’s most desperate desire.”

_ That isn’t accurate it _ , she thought. 

Some of these images she’d never seen before in her life while some were pieces of her dreams. Recognizable scenes with of a couple with an uncanny resemblance to herself and Viktor sharing quiet, intimate moments fading in and out on the mirror’s surface blurred the line between dreams and reality too much. It presented her with a vision of them as soulmates and their lives through the ages. She wanted that, but at the heart of that want was really the desire to be good enough. If this is what the mirror showed her, she guessed that the maker had a pretty shallow understanding of desire. 

Besides that, placing belief in these visions could cloud her ability to actually seek clues in her real visions, completely thwarting her pursuit of the truth about her soulmate. 

“Are you sure… it’s your heart?” She asked as an older Hermione with healer school robes smiled up at Viktor as they rocked to some song that she couldn’t hear. Viktor wore his Quidditch uniform, holding the Hermione in the mirror close. There’s a glow around them that makes her smile with longing. She looks happy there in Viktor’s arms, older, more confident in herself maybe. 

“Why do you ask?” Dumbledore asked, curious as to what she could be thinking.

“When I look into it there’s so much more time than just me there.”

“They say the heart and soul are one, Miss Granger.” 

If she had a little less respect for the man, she may have glared at him for his purposefully and frustratingly cryptic statement. 

Hermione shrugged and stood, turning away from the mirror, “Maybe.”

“If I may, what is it that you see?”

She looked back at the mirror catching the eye of the Hermione in the mirror who winked at her. She stiffened, turning away from it again. 

“A couple sharing quiet moments,” she said with as little inflection as she could muster.

It was best. She knew from experience that even entertaining a small temptation could be disastrous for her mental state, let alone one that called to her so strongly. 

_ It’s not real,  _ she thought.

Nothing was real until she was seventeen. 

Dumbledore nodded, “I can safely assume that you are at least one of the members of this couple.”

“Per the enchantment, I’m supposed to be,” she said, stiffly. “There’s no telling if this is a just a projection of my mind or soul or heart or whatever wizards call it and it can’t be that deep if I already knew it’s what I wanted.”

He laughed. “Miss Granger, depth isn’t a matter of not knowing. It’s a matter of feeling.”

She sighed and turned to leave the room, “Have a good night, Professor.”

He nodded and watched her leave.

_ Curious,  _  he thought. To his understanding the Mirror of Erised was only supposed to reflect the heart of the current person. He would have suspected that Hermione would have seen something else into the Mirror of Erised. After all, everyone else he’d ever spoken to about the mirror only had their current incarnation’s desires reflected, including himself. He thought the ability to reflect desire would have to reflect the desire of every facet of a person: past, present, and future. 

He hummed. Wizards said that the heart and soul were one, but perhaps they were not completely understood, even in the wizarding world. 

*

Hermes and Monica met her at the train station. She wouldn’t be staying long since her training with Madame Pomfrey started in September but it would be enough time to relax, take her placement exam, and get her materials from the Ascelpius Healer’s Academy in Athens, Greece.

When they arrived, Wendell was holding up a scroll bearing the Ascelpius crest.  She worried her lip before opening the scroll and grinned. 

_ Miss Granger,  _

_ We are pleased to say that, after reviewing your exceptional application, we would like you to attend Ascelpius beginning in July of this year. If that is too soon arrangements can be made for a later start date. _

_ We understand that you will be apprenticing with an alumna Madame Poppy Pomfrey and would like to bring you in for initial testing and level placement as soon as possible. _

_ Please send your reply at your earliest convenience.  _

“Well?” Monica asked her.

“I’m in!”

*

Viktor let out a sigh of relief, reading Hermione’s excited letter. While she would be in Greece intermittently, she wouldn’t have the time they first imagined to spend with him.

It was perfect really, considering that he still didn’t have a handle on his own emotions at the moment. That woman who had appeared to him was still concerning. What had she been doing there? What did she mean? Who was she? He’d scoured libraries about it and what frightened him most wasn’t that there was no information on it, but that there was a clear, distinct answer.

Per his research, attraction and such things could interfere with a soul bond, skew it, rip it, damage it in ways that were unpredictable. It’s why previous and current soul bond-seeking charms were so unreliable. They’d been designed without  magical interference in mind and thus could not get a read on the pure soul bond beneath it all. 

The Owl Charm had proven that Hermione and Viktor were magically compatible. It was why they were chosen to be each other’s correspondents after all. However, the length of the correspondence, the depth of the bond they developed over the years, meeting in person and developing that bond further could have skewed their soul bonds, messed with them, damaged them--

_ Destroyed  _ them.

The thought echoed through him, making him shake and swoon. He reached out to ground himself. Though he was sitting down, the room was spinning. His stomach lurched. He covered his mouth and forced himself to take deeper breaths in the hopes to stave off the nausea. 

His desires, his selfishness could have--

He could have been hurting her without even knowing it, taking away the happiness that soul bonds were supposed to be. A few shining moments, no matter how dazzling wasn’t worth the eternity that she’d been promised.

_ What about my soulmate? _ What poor woman had he been tearing away from, hurting before they had even met? Was it that woman in his dreams? Was it someone else? Perhaps his soulmate had been in his face all this time and he just hadn’t noticed? 

He was supposed to know by now. He was eighteen! Per the rules, per everything the wizarding world knew about soulmates, he was supposed to  _ know _ who it was by now. His magic should have been broadcasting a brilliant message, revealed a beacon or  _ something! _

_ Dreams,  _  he remembered, panting. How could he explain his and Hermione’s increasingly similar dreams? Was that also a result of whatever damage their relationship had been causing? 

He pressed a hand to his chest as the air seemed too thin, getting thinner with each breath and each new possibility. The idea of  this life ending never knowing, the next life beginning with no hope because his soulbond was damaged beyond repair. Hermione’s soulbond damaged beyond repair--both of them wandering through life after life never knowing.

Souls without mates.

Souls who had  _ abandoned _ their mates for just a moment’s happiness. 

Souls paying the price for ages after.

His hands shook hearing that dark eternity in his ears. An eternity of empty drifting and regret not just for him, but for all of them. 

_ Gods, what am I going to do?  _ What if it was too late?

“Viktor?” Eleonora called, seeing him in the library. “Is everything alright?”

Viktor swallowed, “I… I don’t know.”

*

Ascelpius Healers Academy was as grand as she expected it to be, as heady and exciting too. She walked in and got through orientation fairly quickly, smiling at the people who guided her around and arranged her schedule. She would spend half of every week with her mentor and, given where she’d placed through her evaluations, she wouldn’t be enrolled for long before she could take, and pass, her Healer Certification test and be placed wherever they needed her to be. 

She saw Viktor whenever he was free from practice and they were both in Greece. It was usually just long enough to hold hands, share a meal, and relay the latest happenings in their lives. The last time they saw one another he gave her a box full of lingerie in Bulgarian red to wear whenever he was playing. He wasn’t truly superstitious as some of the other players were, but it felt like a tradition that he could actually participate in and one that he and Hermione might enjoy. 

She’d stammered out an agreement to wear it and it helped keep his guilt and doubts away for just a little longer.

Viktor smiled, “Mila…”

“Da?” She asked as they walked towards the main street.

“If we…” Viktor started. “If we are not soul mates…”

Hermione looked up at him.

“What… what will we do?”

Hermione took a breath and looked up into the sky, “I assume… be happy for as long as we can be.”

Viktor smiled, pulling her close to usher her into the cab. He dropped her off at her grandfather’s door with a kiss before walking down the road to his grandmother’s. For the first time, in a long time, he felt better about it all. Perhaps he was just freaking out and the Maze had been an illusion, perhaps there was nothing to worry about anyway and all the theory about damaged soul bonds was nonsense.

Either way, only time would truly tell.

So, when he receives the first photo in what would become a series, he smiles. It’s a charmed muggle photo of a very shy Hermione in half of her Ascelpius uniform, open to reveal patches of Bulgarian red, with a  _ good luck today _ written across the photo. The Hermione in the photo tugs her uniform open with a wink as the words fly across the photo. She’s clearly nervous and the wink comes out more nervous than saucy, but it’s the sexiest photo he’s ever received. He’s proud of her, knowing that it had been an act of trust and courage to send it to him. He tucks it into his bag and plays like she’s in the stands watching him. 

*

She finishes much faster than Pomfrey anticipates, faster than anyone anticipates, and sits for her exam that winter after her sixteenth birthday. Her scores were sent to the Healer’s Registration Board and recorded in January, making her the youngest Healer of her caliber in the last two hundred years. Per her counselor and Madame Pomfrey, her multilingual abilities made her an extremely desirable candidate. She could be placed anywhere. 

From her preliminary talks with the Healer’s Board, she would be interviewed by the board to figure out her post-graduate plans before she could be placed. Hermione had decided on a track that would allow her to start work that would go towards other healing certifications. The Board scheduled her interview in February, leaving her a week in between her meeting with her counselor and the interview to relax, take a deep breath, join a dueling club in Greece, and prepare herself mentally.

On the day of the interview Hermes made her breakfast, rubbed her shoulders, and encouraged her to relax before taking her to the consulate.

“Miss Granger, they’re ready for you now.”

She nodded and stood up walking down the hall and thinking the entire setup was ridiculous. What was the point of interviewing her post-graduation without knowing what positions were open first? Shouldn’t she have been able to pick and choose? Madame Pomfrey told her that the interview was the chance to communicate her preferences and professional goals. She was  _ sixteen. _ She barely had a plan for her post-doc work let alone her career path, yet here she was in her dress suit heading in for her post-grad evaluation, preliminary job placement, and post-grad work proposal. A note appeared between her and the door. She grabbed it. She guessed that Viktor wasn’t near his journal. 

_ Knock them dead _ , it said in Viktor’s slanted handwriting. 

She lifted her chin and scribbled a quick thanks on the back with her wand before sending it back to him and walking into the office. After greeting everyone at the evaluation table, she took a seat and settled in for the battery of questions they had for her while noting a few of her own. The evaluation board seemed happy with her responses to their questions, happier that she had some idea of what she wanted to do for her post-grad project. When she’d finished her questions, they congratulated her, handed over her scores, and sent her on the way. 

The parchment’s wax seal felt like it was burning its crest into her palm, but she didn’t dare open her scores yet. Instead, she made her way quickly out of the Greek Healer’s Board building to catch a cab.

When she arrived home, Monica, Hermes, and Wendell ambushed her, dragged her into the living room and demanded that she open them. Even Crookshanks seemed anxious to know, occupying her lap as soon as she sat down as if he too could read human language. She opened them as an owl came in through the window and Eleonora knocked on the front door. Hermes went to get the door and invited Eleonora in as Monica collected the letter. 

“Well?” Eleonora asked. “Viktor is currently being beat up in practice so he couldn’t come, but he did ask me to press for all the details.”

Hermione shook her head with a chuckle before reading. She nodded, impressed with herself.

“Apparently I am a world class Healer in theory and practice,” she said. “I guess I really a highly desirable candidate.”

Monica offered her letter from the owl, surprising Hermione. She expected it would be someone from school asking after her, more than likely Harry. The crest of the Healers Board gleamed on the front of the envelope. She hadn’t been out of the building longer than an hour, how was it that they had something to tell her so quickly? Madame Pomfrey told her that it usually took a week or so for the Healers Registration Board to update the international list as well as the job board for the major entities that hired healers. 

From the letter, she surmised that a few of the processes had been streamlined since Madame Pomfrey’s last apprentice, or maybe Ascelpius had created their own placement system that sped along the process. Her guidance counselor had skipped that part of her exit interview while she’d been sneering at Hermione. Based on her post-graduation evaluation and scores, St. Mungos’, Ascelpius, and the IQL were the three entities that were more than likely to have positions fitting her professional desires and post-graduate plans. The subsequent pages gave her rundowns of a few job listings that may also be of interest for her, but were more than likely in a lower pay grade. She would have to come back in with her primary selections, salary requirements and any other questions in a week’s time so they could schedule interviews with potential employers. 

_ * _

A week later, Hermione left the Healer’s Board office with her head held high. You could almost see her skipping along down the hallway, grinning as she met Hermes and linked arms with him. 

“Well?”

“I believe I negotiated my salary and professional desires quite well.”

Hermes laughed. “Did you take them for everything they were worth?”

“That and a little more.”

Hermes nodded, “That’s my Mia. Come! We must celebrate!”

It turned out to simply being a rather loud celebratory dinner with Eleonora, her family, Viktor, Vlad, Alexander, and Mihkail, who happened to be with Viktor. They laughed, hearing Hermione relate her demands to all three of the employers who were fighting over her.

“I’d hate to have to face you down,” Vlad said with a wince. 

Alexander nodded, “For sure.”

Hermione beamed, “Enough about me who doesn’t securely have a job yet. What about you?”

Mihkail grinned as Viktor flushed and nudged him, earning a nudge back and a pointed look. Mihkail only looked away innocently as the flushed spread across Viktor’s cheeks. He was still working on weaseling his way out of agreeing with no luck. It was already humiliating enough to even have to  _ consider _ it, he wasn’t sure how his pride would take Hermione knowing about it, how she would feel about it, let alone how she would react when her boyfriend was half naked for all of the wizarding world to see.

_ No sense of tact,  _  he thought, glaring at Mihkail.

“Viktor has been offered a brand contract,” Alexander said with a grin.

“ _ Sasha, _ ” Viktor hissed and kicked him under the table. 

Hermione leaned in, curious. She knew from their letters that his team members usually took the brunt of the branding because of he was the youngest on the team and his team’s owner were trying to protect him. Before he reached the age of majority in his home country, they kept him from advertising contracts that would sexualize his image. The owner of the Vultures stated that Viktor, no matter what he looked like, was still a child and thus deserved to be treated as such until he was eighteen. Viktor had been the face of a lot of sponsorships for brooms manufacturers, Quidditch gear and the like so long as the premise of the advertisements didn’t attempt to portray Viktor in an inappropriate light. Now that he was old enough, all restrictions were off and all sorts of brands were approaching Viktor with advertising offers. From the way Alexander explained it, it seemed that Viktor’s eighteenth birthday was more celebrated by wizarding brands than it had been by Viktor. 

“For brooms?” She asked.

Alexander snickered as Mihkail answered, “And underwear.”

Viktor growled at him, but Hermione laughed. He hung his head. It was absolutely ludicrous to think of Viktor modeling underwear willingly. She had a feeling that he lost a bet to one of his teammates for that particular contract, or perhaps the protective ordinance that his team’s owner had enforced over the years had finally been lifted. After all, he was going on nineteen this year.

“Thank you, Mihkail!”

“You’re welcome.”


	25. Not Thinking Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion, conversations, and spicy make=outs.

“Hello again, Miss Granger.” The receptionist smiled, “I was surprised that they asked you back after the way you stuck your flag in the ground and said  _ surrender. _ ”

Hermione laughed and shrugged. “I hear I’m highly employable.”

The woman laughed. “Come this way. I think you’ll be happy.”

Hermione followed her down the hall and entered the empty meeting room. 

“Representatives of your top choices will be in with their  job offers and answers to any questions you may have about the positions and their potential. I’ll come in at about ten minutes before the end of their appointment block so you can wrap up in time for the next appointment. Then, you’ll have a meeting with the Healers Board to ascertain your interests, trajectory and make a final decision.”

Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. Logically, she knew she had more power in this process than it felt like, but her stomach wouldn’t stop tumbling around with nerves. 

“Any questions?” The receptionist asked. 

“No, thank you.”

The woman turned to leave, giving Hermione enough time to adjust herself in the chair, pull out a few sheets of parchment to take notes, a quill, and gather her courage. 

_ I am beautiful. I am brilliant. I am not mental. I am strong. _

The door opened again. She lifted her chin and stood to shake hands with the first person to come in. He was a representative of St. Mungo’s Emergency Care division.  While he was very clear about the expectations of the position and the very rigid hierarchy in the department, he skated around how independent research was treated. St. Mugo’s wasn’t well-known for the research conducted there, nor could she recall any independent research being published out of the hospital. She remembered that she told the Healers Board that flexibility with her post-graduate project was important to her, being in an environment that challenged her was important to her. She didn’t have a problem with protocols, but she needed to know what those protocols said about her rights to her research and her ability to conduct that research independently. She didn’t want someone peeking over her shoulder at every step, let alone attempting to claim her work for their own. 

If they didn’t have a protocol in place, or weren’t comfortable explaining it, it could mean that St. Mungo’s was an opportunity that she would have to pass up to protect herself and whatever work she’d be doing. She wondered how other witches and wizards went about protecting the work they’d done at St. Mungo’s or if the concept of intellectual property was simply too Muggle for them.

When she pressed upon the limitations on her freedom and rights as a researcher, he fumbled and grew defensive. At the end of the interview, she scratch his division from her potentials list with a note about rights and freedom beside it. 

After a few more people that didn’t necessarily need  _ her _ but needed someone, a woman from Ascelpius’s Hospital came in. She was someone Hermione had met already and immediately knew that this wasn’t going to go well. They wanted her as an assistant for one of their researchers. The longer the woman spoke, the clearer it became that Ascelpius, and the researcher in particular, needed someone to do the work and receive none of the credit. Yes, he was a respected person in the field and most people would have considered it a great opportunity, but Hermione didn't go through Healers training to be a researcher under someone who wasn’t doing anything innovative with his prestige.

She didn’t want to, as Madame Pomfrey said, be a _ feather _ in anyone’s cap. It was too close to putting her on a pedestal for display for her tastes and a complete waste of her time to boot. 

By the time the representative left, Hermione was just glad that she had gotten through all of the medical professionals and only had IQL representatives to go through. Both St. Mungo’s and Ascelpius seemed to be more interested in curtailing new thoughts, or getting new thoughts published under old names than allowing free and needed research. If she wanted to continue doing the same thing that the entire healer field was doing, she would have gotten on the teaching track not the practicing researcher track. 

There were five according to her  list. Two of them gave her the creepiest vibe she’d ever had. If the two men weren’t leering at her, she may have actually been able to get more information on the position than the basics. As it stood, they both left Hermione’s stomach churning uncomfortably and her hastily scratching out their names. The receptionist came in to check on her and bring her a calming potion for her stomach. The third one was the Head Healer for the team and sneered through most of the interview at Hermione’s questions. Hermione couldn’t tell if the woman was affronted that she would ask such questions or simply didn’t have the answers.  She took a breath after the woman left and and sent up a prayer of thanks that there was only one more person on the list. The list of prospects wasn’t as bright as she’d hoped it would be, but there were viable options. 

_ Gods help me, _ she thought, checking the time and watching her hand twitch with anxiety. This process wasn’t going the way she imagined it would at all. Had the Healer Board completely disregarded the part of her interview where she said she wanted  _ freedom _ to research? Or was it that this was the best the wizarding world had to offer in terms of employment for a respectable salary? 

It seems that the muggle and the wizarding world had more in common in that regard than she first thought. She wished Madame Pomfrey had given her a bit more of a warning of what to expect, or that her guidance counselor had actually done her job. The door opened again. She stood up, and held out her hand to shake.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

The old man walked forward, leaning on his cane. He took her hand  by the fingertips to kiss, making her eyes widen in shock. It’s such an old world gesture that she can only think of Viktor. Somehow, it eases her. At the very least, this man was probably not going to leer at her the entire meeting. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Granger,” he said, taking a seat. “I am Ivan Belov.”

Hermione retook her seat as he opened his bag and pulled out a large stack of paperwork. 

“For the last few years, we have had a healer who was… serviceable, but clumsy. Have you ever considered a career in sports medicine?”

Hermione shook her head. “Although that’s not to say that it was never on my list.”

He waited as she took a breath. 

“I am happiest when I have problems to solve, something to improve upon, to research and learn. As you know from my profile, I’m completing my post-graduate project as well and I would like my employment to be challenging. A challenge is a challenge regardless of specialization.” 

“Challenging?”

She grinned, “I thrive on a challenge. My greatest fear in this entire process has been accepting a position with an organization that wants me as a trophy,  a backup, or plain support not a researcher. ” 

She looked down at her notes with a sense of dread. The positions would challenge her in so far as application from what she could glean of the representatives’ proposals. She would be on her feet a lot, healing one person at a time for a long time at St. Mungo’s. Her post-grad project would fall to the wayside while the upper management would give her the longest shifts until she either broke or quit. They needed a dependable and efficient workhorse, not an innovator. 

Ascelpius’s divisions simply wanted her under their banner and under their control. Anything she could produce would have someone else’s name tagged onto it without fail, if her name made it onto her work at all. They needed someone who would stay quiet and let someone else have the credit. She didn’t know what gave them the impression that she would be agreeable to that sort of career,  but they were wrong. They had the greatest equipment, the largest budget, and the appearance of freedom. It wouldn’t be enough to keep her happy, keep her challenged, or keep her there. The representatives struck her as just vindictive enough to make Hermione’s life difficult if she decided to leave Ascelpius. Hermione didn’t want to end her career before it had even begun.

“I wanted to go into healing because the wizarding world on the whole is so far behind in their thinking and techniques with regards to healing than the muggle world, yet the wizarding world has nearly limitless potential if someone would put some thought towards proactive procedures and equipment.”

From her time straddling the lines between muggle and wizarding medicine, it seemed to her that wizards lacked a sense of standardization and innovation. No two hospitals used the same diagnostic procedures, no two healing schools taught the same curriculum though all graduates who could pass the test were considered healers. Rather than pushing for medical texts to be published so that new techniques could be distributed across the healer network, the powerhouses of the healing field kept their information to themselves, buried innovative procedures in dark corners and out of print tomes.

They were comfortable until what they had no longer worked. Thanks to her parents having such a wide community of friends in the medical field, she’d had plenty of time to ask all the questions and peruse their personal libraries looking for answers. The muggle world had a level of order that the wizarding world didn’t, a level of order that seemed to be serving them well as the muggle life expectancy and birth rates continued to grow. 

She shook her head. “I want a chance to put my knowledge to good use, where it’s needed.”

And from what she’d read of Quidditch history, as one of the most dangerous sports known to wizarding kind they could use all the help they could get in keeping their players alive, whole, and still playing. 

Ivan remained silent for a moment, contemplating the woman before him before pulling out a stack of parchment and sliding it across the table. She waited, looking at the stack and then back up to Ivan. 

“This is a mock sample of the medical records my previous healers kept including the most recent. There is no personal information in these records, but I brought them to give you an idea of what you’d be stepping into.”

She worried her lip and untied the cord that bound them to take a look. At first glance, she could tell, like most medical records in the wizarding world, that there was no standard template or procedure for recording information. Some of the pages were simply scribbled notes. They were mostly out of order and without notation to help organize them. It gave her a headache and made her think of her record keeping class with Ascelpius. Most of the wizarding world relied on summoning spells to retrieve proper records rather than any actual organization. Wizards also didn’t keep records the way muggles did. Once you were released from a hospital, the only record about your treatment was the paperwork you were given at discharge. It made it a real pain to try and figure out what spells had and hadn’t been used on a patient should they come back or even simply went to another hospital. The only thing it seemed to be good for was the ease of getting second opinions on diagnoses.

She still wasn’t sure how no one thought to establish detailed medical histories for wizards so they could skip through more initial diagnostic process and get to most pressing matters. 

“Mr. Belov,” she hedged. “If I may.”

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“These records are, well, quite frankly not worthy of being called records.”

She frowned and flipped another page over, rearranging the pages to according to players. 

“How did your healer find anything or keep track of a player’s health with records like this? How could the IQL certify anyone’s health and adherence to the rules with these records?”

Ivan gave her a amused look as she continued to shuffle the pages around.

“It wasn’t particularly a concern until recently. A World Cup Win tends to direct a lot of attention towards you rather quickly.”

_ World Cup,  _ she thought. 

Hermione looked up at him from the pages and swallowed. “You--you’re the owner of the Vratsa Vultures.”

“Yes,” he said kindly. “I hope Viktor has told you good things about me.”

She chuckled. “He says you saved him.”

“Perhaps.”

She shook her head, reading a line from the notes.

_ Broken leg-- Healed.  _

Broken where? Broken how? Healed with what spell? Was that the only thing that was broken? How badly was it broken and how much did the healer mend? Over mending could mess with a body’s ability to heal naturally with untold consequences. There were several theories about the correlation between magical healing future issues. Hence why it was important for wizards, especially in fields with a high injury rate, to have good records. 

“Your team needs help,” she said.

“Yes.  yes we do.”

“Viktor has given me quite a few horror stories about your healers.”

Ivan snorted. Given that Viktor was the most targeted player on his team, that didn’t surprise him. He, more often than not, preferred to take a pain potion and let himself heal naturally than suffer through their former healer’s work. 

“I am sure.”

She restacked the pages and conjured a few paperclips to bind the relevant records together. While they weren’t the real records, there was no telling how he transformed them to make mock ups. Perhaps there was a reversal spell, or someone could use it to organize the real records if there was some form of correlation. There was also the fact that she just preferred to be organized. 

He thanked her and asked her about what she had in mind for her post-graduate work. The idea was far simpler than he first imagined. Healers needed faster and more accurate ways of diagnosing patients so that they weren’t scrambling through three to ten different diagnostic spells, or, even worse, foregoing diagnosis altogether and casting spells until it stuck, especially with internal injuries. Diagnosis is where she wanted to start before moving on to a record keeping system to integrate with diagnosis and treatment.

“Well, Miss Granger, I cannot promise the best of equipment, nor the most visibility, but I can promise a clean slate and plenty of data to work with. Merlin knows my players end up more injured than should be possible.” Hermione waited, meeting Ivan’s eyes. “For what it is worth, I wish you the best of luck with your research.”

He took the paperwork and bade her goodbye before the receptionist came in to tell her that it was ten minutes until the end of the appointment block.

Ivan made it back to the stadium in time to watch the next practice of his players whizzing around.  The borrowed and -- less than satisfactory-- Healer watching them below. Hermione was quite a remarkable young woman, so he couldn’t quite figure out the bit of shadow hanging over his Seeker. If she took the job with the Vultures, perhaps he would find out soon enough.

*

Hermione walked out with her assignment in hand and her head held high. It had been more a leap of faith than one of logic. Madame Pomfrey had seemed confused about her decision, but once Hermione explained it, Madame Pomfrey could only nod and wish her good luck as she handed over her official sign off of Hermione’s completion of tutelage under her. With Madame Pomfrey’s signature, Ascelpius released her credentials so she could begin her thesis freely and start work.

Despite how simple the procedures were, they took more than just a few hours. By the time the night began to descend over Hermes’s little portion of Greece, Hermione swore she’d run a marathon. 

“That bad?” Hermes asked as she collapsed across the couch, her bag on the floor beside her. 

Crookshanks leapt into her lap and pawed at her, demanding attention.

“Just long, pappous,” she said, stroking Crookshanks. “It’s all done, now though.” 

He chuckled. “Well, dinner is almost ready. I’m sure your parents will be arriving sometime soon.”

They arrived just as she gathered enough energy to feed Crookshanks and shuffle to the table. Monica asked her immediately how it went and Hermione could only smile. They’d come a long way from those troubled years of never really understanding one another. 

“It going to be new and busy, I think,” Hermione said, thoughtfully. 

Monica hummed. While she still didn’t fully understand the sport of Quidditch, she understood the concept of a team medic. How that fit in with Hermione’s thesis plans and the career she imagined for herself, she had no idea. 

“It’ll be great since the dueling season and the Quidditch season don’t overlap.” 

“That seems like a lot, Hermione,” Wendell said. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. Wendell no doubt asked the question with regards to her age and the stress that would be on her simply by going into the workforce so early. Unfortunately, a part of her thrived on a good amount of stress.

“It will be a lot, but I think I’ll be happy.”

Hermes could only smile as he watched her her explain the ideas she had about her new position, a shift in direction for her thesis, and a chance to continue being a duelist. He understood a bit about dueling and her accomplishments while at Hogwarts to know that Hermione enjoyed the challenge of every match just as much, if not more, as being a beacon for young women looking to step outside of what was generally acceptable in the wizarding world. It would be a lot, but Hermione had already proven that  _ a lot _ was never  _ too much _ for her. 

There was a warmth in his chest as he watched her and her parents. He could hear his late wife, his love, chuckling in his ear. 

_ She has your spirit, _ he thought with a smile.

“Sounds like there’s nothing else to say but good luck,” Hermes said. “So when do you start?”

“Next week!”

*

Sergei made the announcement that Ivan would be introducing a new member to the management team today. Viktor barely managed to write Hermione a heartfelt good luck, take care of yourself, and  _ be good _ . She would be starting her position today and he’d been tangled up with team business to make it to Greece to celebrate. The message had barely left his hand when the gloom settled on his shoulders. 

It had been a long time since he’d gotten a chance to see Hermione between practice, contracts and such. From the photos she’d sent him and the messages that they exchanged he could tell that she’d filled out a little bit, coming into her adulthood a little more. She definitely wasn’t as shy any longer, more confident. He supposed that entering the workforce and negotiating your worth even as a new graduate could do that to someone.

“You alright?” Mihkail asked. 

“You’ve been a little out of it this morning,”Gavrail said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Viktor groaned, his shoulder twinging with strain at the touch. Gavrail drew back with concern. 

“You alright? Did you fall?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tense. I just-- Hermione is starting her job today officially…”

“Nervous that she’ll have the hots for her supervisor? A colleague?”

He flinched. Gavrail’s eyes widened and Marin winced before Mihkail put a hand gently on Viktor’s shoulder. Gavrail apparently hit a little too close to home with his teasing.

“Well that’s a foolish thought.” Mikhail told him. “Anyone with eyes could see that woman is head over heels for you.”

“We…” his voice drifted off as he tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. The words had been hard enough to admit to himself in the quiet of his room or after waking up from another dream of a face that was slowly becoming more familiar than Hermione’s. He had yet to figure out who the woman in his visions were, but--

_ Dreams _ , he told himself.  _ They’re just dreams. _

_ Then why was it so hard to say it out loud? _

“Vitya?” Mihkail said.

“We may not be soulmates,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. 

They traded glances over his head before Marin asked the question they all wanted to ask.

“So?”

Gavrail tilted his head as Viktor’s shoulders slumped and he looked back at the ground. The shadow his hair cast over his face seemed darker than it should have. 

“Plenty of wizards don’t meet their soulmates, get married and live happily…”

Viktor shook his head, his jaw trembling. Yes, he knew this logically, but he also knew that those marriages always had something missing. His parents were a prime example of it. 

“I just don’t want to take that chance from her.”

Lyudmil whacked him over the head. “Not your choice. It’s hers. Stop being such a martyr.”

Viktor glowered at him but followed them towards the meeting room. Viktor took his usual seat after Mihkail shoved a piece of fruit into his hand. The door opened at the entire room went quiet as Sergei came in, all cheer and happiness, then Ivan, then--

“ _ Mila? _ ” Viktor breathed, seeing her walk in behind Ivan in a fitted, deep red spring dress, her hair tamed, long and curly, up in in a black sphendone-style band, sandals, and that dizzying smile. 

If that wasn’t enough, she opened her mouth and spoke Bulgarian, introducing herself, what she would be doing and the like, effectively stunning the room. Of the team members who’d met her before, they hadn’t expected her Bulgarian to be so good.  As for the rest of the team, they hadn’t been expecting a woman who looked as though she’d come from beyond the Mediterranean, let alone one so pretty who spoke Bulgarian so well. Their last healer only spoke Russian. 

“Any questions?” She asked kindly looking around. 

Gavrail raised his hand. 

“Yes, Gavrail?”

“So… How long are you and Viktor going to need per day for snogging?”

Mihkail broke the silence first as his jaw dropped and Viktor turned bright red. Sergei and the rest of the team laughed, even Ivan, as Hermione cleared her throat. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary during business hours.”

“Not even lunch?” Theseus asked. 

“Are there any other questions?” Hermione asked, trying not to duck her head and hide her face. 

Viktor could only smile at her. He hadn’t quite made sense of the jumble of emotions pressing against his breastbone yet, but there was definitely pride there. How long ago was it that such teasing would have reduced her to a flustered mess? And she was here. Of all the places he thought she would end up, St. Mungo’s, her alma mater,  _ Greece _ , the Vultures’ compound wasn’t on the list.

_ What is she doing here? _ Viktor thought, confused. It wasn’t in Hermione’s personality to come here simply because he was here, but now that she was here, something was niggling in his mind telling him that his presence here had some part to play in it. The questions about their destiny, the woman and figures in his dreams were pressing there and tangled together with this feeling. 

_ She’s here, _ he thought, trying to shake free of the feeling. It wasn’t permanent. It was just a contract, probably until she was finished with her thesis and then she would have another chance to go. 

_ Can’t we just enjoy it? _ Hermione’s voice asked him and nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. For now, he would just enjoy seeing her. 

With that over, Ivan escorted her out of the room and led her towards her section of the compound where the Healer’s office, storage, and lab were.  The Vratsa compound was beautiful and much larger than she imagined. She wasn’t sure if it was as large as the stadium in England, but she could guess that it was at least comparable. 

When they arrived at the office, Ivan opened the door for her and Hermione winced seeing the state of disarray. Ivan had said that the team’s healer had been bad, but not this bad. There were papers loose and stacked randomly around the room. The pages of parchment seemed to be of varying ages all slotted and mixed together, shoved in between books, and equipment around the room. A cauldron sat half-empty and smelling rotten on a wire rack that cut through the room. From where she stood, she saw at least three more racks that looked close to crumbling.

_ How could they keep track of anything in this nonsense? _

“Goodness.”

“A challenge indeed,” Ivan said, humorously. 

“Well… I suppose I should get started.”

When Viktor wandered towards the Healer’s section of the compound, the sun was setting and practice had been over for about thirty minutes. She’d been on the field to watch over the drills and speak with Sergei about his concerns with their injuries and medical histories. 

Viktor knocked and waited hearing a yelp of surprise and a clattering sound before he opened the door to see Hermione pushing aside books, her hair frazzled, her dress riding high on her thighs as she lay sprawled on the floor. Her eyes wide with shock as she panted, a hand pressed to her chest, she looked like the image of a frazzled staff member.

_ Or the heroine in a porno,  _  his mind quipped. He would have groaned at his own immaturity, but they were dating, he was a young male, and he hadn’t had sex since before they met.

“Mila?” He closed the door behind him and walking inside. “It’s about time to go. Are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

She stretched her legs out and adjusted the hem of her dress. While she felt a little silly sitting amongst fallen books and parchment, sitting on them was a better alternative to walking across them. She wiggled to get the parchment from beneath her and stack them up. At least she hadn’t gone through these yet, so it made little difference as to how she sorted them for now. 

“Good,” he said and tossed up a silencing ward across the door before taking a seat. “I believe we have much to talk about.”

She flinched at his tone and looked up at him nervously. Her hands continued to smooth the pages she’d fallen on and stack them on top of a nearby tome. “Like?”

“Like you not telling me you had an offer to come to Bulgaria.”

She looked down, “I wanted it to be a surprise. Do you… not want me here?”

“Come here, mila.” He said plainly and groaned when she crawled over the pages towards him.

If the scene he’d walked in on hadn’t been enough, then the sight of her crawling should have done it. Had it been that long? Had she been missing him this way too? She’d taken to submission like everything she studied--quickly, easily, comfortably. And gods if he hadn’t gotten addicted at the first taste of it. He felt like she was his first all over again. 

He watched intently but noticed with a smile, unable to not be amused at his own eagerness and her own pragmatism. She kept her feet off the floor as she crawled, careful to move every page out of the way as she did so. By the time she reached him, she’d cleared a neat walking path, made several stacks and his own enthusiasm had turned nearly completely to amusement.

_ Oh mila, _ he thought helplessly. He wasn’t sure if it was more amusing that he was so keyed up to go further with her now that they were in each other’s presence again, or that she wasn’t even thinking about it.

“Why did you take this position?” He asked.

“Because Ivan told me that I would have a challenge and a chance to work on my post-graduate project.” She said easily. “It helped that he didn’t seem keen to put me in a closet somewhere and not let me work.”

He smirked, “They wanted a trophy?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “So badly they could taste it.”

Viktor sighed with relief. She was here the same reason he was still with the Vultures: Ivan was a man who believed in supporting people’s potentials, not using them for his own gain. 

_ It has absolutely nothing to do with me,  _  he thought, gratefully. At least that one doubt could be put to rest. cupping her face in his hands to kiss her forehead. 

“I have missed you, mila.”

“I missed you too,” she said, almost breathless at the feeling of his hands on her face, naturally warm, but pulsing with magic that hummed in her veins, washing over her and into her wand that reflected it back over and over again.

“Let me see you,” he said gently, prompting her to stand up. “Gods, you’re beautiful…”

He settled one hand over the curve of her hip with a groan, the other cupping the back of her thigh, pulling her closer to him. “What are you doing for dinner?”

“I hadn’t decided yet. I thought maybe I could unpack my dorm and wander a little.”

“Dorm?” Viktor asked. “You live on compound?”

“Yep.”

Viktor grinned. How fortuitous to have her so close. He wondered if she would be commuting from Greece. “Have dinner with me?”

“I’d love to,” she said. 

He stood up and kissed her. “Let’s get this picked up and get out of here, hm?”

Together, they moved the stacks of pages and books onto the disorganized tabled and left the compound. The Blue Moon was one of Viktor’s favorite cafes in Vratsa. Owned by an older wizard and his wife, it was cozy and served all of his favorites.  Her eyes lit up seeing it. 

Viktor had told her all about the Blue Moon and had made him promise to take her one day.

“You remembered,” she said.

He opened the door, “Be prepared to be amazed.”

Dinner was far better than she anticipated. She was sure that Viktor would have to carry her out she was so full. 

“I told you it was good,” he said walking beside her back to the compound. 

Hermione hummed, leaning into him. He wrapped his arm arm around her waist and squeezed her gently. There was something calming and completely relaxing about having her there beside him. 

They arrived at her dorm too quickly for his liking, but she invited him inside to prolong their time together. 

“I’m not really unpacked yet.”

Viktor snorted, “You should see Lyudmil’s dorm. He’s never unpacked.”

She chuckled at that and moved a few boxes aside so they could sit on the couch together. 

“There was one other thing...” Viktor said as Hermione sat beside him.

“What’s that?”

“When did you learn Bulgarian?”

She swallowed and looked down at his expression, dark and seductive.

“I…” she laughed nervously. She’d forgotten what it was like to have Viktor’s attention on her like this, alone, sitting so close to one another that she could see the details in his dark eyes. “I’ve been practicing. There was a girl in my program from Bulgaria.”

Viktor smirked, “You… remember what I told you about men and their native languages?”

She nodded, shifting nervously. She remembered exactly how he looked at her then, much like now. His dark eyes had made her almost uncomfortably warm. The time since their last meeting hadn’t changed his effect on her in the slightest. 

“Come here.”

Hermione felt her heart skip but she went to him. He guided her to sit in his lap.

“Mila, you will be the death of me.”

“In a good way?”

“In a turn you over my knee way,” he corrected. She worried her lip.

“Are there any other secrets I should know?” Viktor asked.

She squirmed and looked down as he regarded her.

“Maybe…”

He waited.

“I may have… bought some things.”

“Like?”

“Vratsa Vultures things.”

He cursed, his stomach clenching. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and while it made him happy, it would incredibly difficult to keep his head on straight. “Show me.”

Hermione hesitated, but reached for the tie of her dress, pulling it apart so he could see the Vratsa Vultures themed underwear set she wore beneath. It was far more  _ revealing  _ than anything he’d bought her, and the fact that she’d grown brave enough to wear it made his head spin.

He groaned, finding himself at a loss for words. It was too much and not enough. His brain wasn’t working, his face was hot, and he shifted his hips in attempt to alleviate some of the pressure in his trousers. The full weight of her in his lap made it even harder to get the words to come out.

“What… What is… how? You’ve been wearing this all day?”

“For…” she trailed off. In a voice so small he almost missed it, she whispered, ”You.”

He took a hand full of her hair to drag her forward for a kiss. Hermione shifted, but he held her still, a hand between her legs and a wicked smile.

“We need to talk.” Viktor said. “Before I lose my grip.”

Hermione worried her lip and frowned, “About those urges, I assume.”

“Yes,” Viktor said, stroking her hair. “We’ve done a bit, but I’m not going to take you any further yet.”

Hermione leaned against him, tucking herself into his arms. “Limits?”

“That too,” he said. “Had time to research this while learning how to save lives?”

“I always have time to research,” she quipped, making him laugh.

Viktor’s concerns were simple. She was inexperienced. He wasn’t. They had been apart for a while physically and though they’d kept in contact via letters and skirted the edge of the other part of their relationship, it was nothing compared to actually being in each other’s presence.

Dangerous is the word he used and Hermione agreed. She’d just started with the Vratsa and she didn’t want to move any faster than they had been. If anything, the probably needed to slow down given that they hadn’t been around one another in so long. Then again, they’d never spoke about where this was supposed to go. It had started as almost therapeutic and turned into--

“What would you call this?” Hermione asked. “I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be conventional.”

Viktor snorted. There was nothing conventional about what they were doing no matter how you looked at it. He knew that he didn’t want a this to be full-time. They had a connection outside of this and he wouldn’t jeopardize that. 

“Something we dabble in to spice up our make-out sessions,” Viktor said and Hermione sputtered.

“What?”

Viktor chuckled at her confusion. “Are you saying you’d like more?”

Hermione frowned, “How much more?”

“That’s something we have to decide together,” he said. “For now, I think it’s pretty limited to making you relax.”

Hermione hummed and thought about it. She did feel more free, more open and settled now. There was something about having rules that made it easier to relax and let her insecurities float away.  She supposed it was because so long as she followed the rules, there was nothing she could mess up and the rules were ones that she could obey. 

They were rules she’d agreed to follow. 

“Control,” she said. “It makes me feel like I’m in more control.”

Viktor waited for her to continue. 

“I think your description is pretty accurate.” She said. “Is that enough for you?”

“It is,” he said. 

He knew himself well enough to know that it wasn’t the trappings of play that drew him in, it wasn’t titles or anything like that, but the intimacy. Did he like the idea of tying her up and having his way with her? Of course, but he liked the fact that she wanted him to more than the act itself.

“Trust,” she said. “You like trust.”

He hummed, “I’ve never thought about it that way, but I suppose so.”

He licked his lips and tucked her dress closed, she chuckled at the gesture. 

“Is it wrong that I’d like you to see me like this?” Hermione asked. “With or without the spice to your making out?”

Viktor pressed a kiss to her head, “You will be the death of me. What is that you want?”

“Just,” she paused, wondering. 

What was it that she wanted exactly? Her head seemed to be filled with a million thoughts, impulses and thoughts. She thought back to that moment in the Room of Requirement, blindfold and helpless. Her thighs twitched and her stomach clenched. 

“Spicy making out,” she said and he laughed.

Hermione would surely be the death of him. He licked his lips.

“Okay,” he said. “But only if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

He thought for a moment, “Hands only.”

“And a blindfold?” Hermione asked. 

Viktor tilted his head as she stammered. He pressed a finger to her lips.

“As you wish,” he said. “I’m going to take you apart, mila, okay?”

“Green,” she breathed, meeting his eyes. He smiled and conjured two strips of soft cloth for her hands and her eyes before lying her back across the small couch. 

He kissed her sweetly. “Ready?”

She nodded, panting, her hands above her head and her eyes closed beneath the blindfold.

Viktor swallowed thickly as the moment shifted in his eyes. The woman from the Maze was there beneath him in Hermione’s place for a moment. He shook his head free of the vision, leaning down to kiss Hermione again and blot out the phantom with Hermione. Guilt twisted in his chest. 

Who was this woman? Why was this vision so persistent?

The world shifted again as he slid his tongue into Hermione’s mouth. He kept his eyes open and focused on the brown of Hermione’s skin, the wild curls of her hair. Every time the world shifted, he squeezed Hermione a little more firmly, kissed her harder until her voice and taste drove the visions away completely. It doesn’t take much to overwhelm her with her being so inexperienced and so much time having passed with him apart. The blindfold and restriction was just enough to make her overly sensitive with anticipation. He managed to keep his mind focused on pressing his mouth, hands and tongue to every inch he could manage. Spots to make her shiver, cry out, and beg him for more.

By the time he’s satisfied with the mess he’d made of her, she’s disheveled, trembling and lax with orgasm. Viktor removed the binding around her wrists and then the blindfold  before cuddling her close. 

As her mind cleared, she felt the dull ache in her wrists and sunk into the comfort of  Viktor holding her.

“T-Thank you, Viktor,” she panted. 

He smiled, the fear and guilt ebbing out of him. He’d held Hermione. That woman, whoever she was had no place here between them. The vision had been persistent, but whoever she was just a phantom. 

_ Just a phantom, _ he reminded himself. 

People had fake visions all the time, but there was nothing more real than the woman in his arms.

Hermione shifted, sitting up and looking towards the kitchen.

“Hungry?” Viktor asked. 

“A bit,” she said. “I actually just want chocolate.”

Viktor sat up and followed her to the kitchen. They snacked on a collection of fruit and chocolates before curling up in her bed together and dozing off.


	26. Past Our Satellites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is freaking out and he really doesn't understand why.
> 
> Can anyone guess what's going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been awhile! I'm sorry. The ending was giving more trouble than I thought and thus this chapter had to be almost completely reworked. (YIKES). Without further ado, here's the story!

When the article is published, Viktor can feel it in his gut--the argument that is bound to happen. It seemed that the Ministries of Magic had finally managed to perfect that soul mate charm for mass application. With the war over, the countries who’d been involved had banded together to give their populations some sort of stability. 

_ And this is what they came up with? _ Viktor thought incredulously. 

From what he was reading, each witch and wizard was required to report to their country’s Ministry to participate in the international pool. When a match was found they would be called in to meet their new partner. Under the British Marriage Law, they were expected to date and to be married within five years. The article didn’t mention the Bulgarian law about it or what British witches and wizards would do if their soulmate couldn’t be found or was simply from a country that didn’t enact the same marriage restrictions. However, they did mention that every country that was involved in the development of the charm would participate by choice or by force. 

He could hear the riots in Sofia about it ready to break out, but knew that just a few words from the Bulgarian Minister of Magic would have them calmed down. That statement would come out in just a few days. Bulgaria wouldn’t be pushing for people to come in until she’d issued the official statement.

_ Probably after chewing out Britain for publishing this article, _ he thought, recognizing the author of the article as a Bulgarian journalist who only handled translating new from Western Europe.

Per the article, it was passed as a push to increase the wizarding population. Someone in the British Ministry had been doing too much research and not enough living. They’d discovered that not only was the wizarding birth rate declining, but the birth rate of Squibs was increasing. If that wasn’t bad enough, divorce was on the rise in the younger generations who had just enough exposure to the muggle world to know that marriage never had to be forever. What made Britain think that forcing people who had only just met to marry and be together was a good idea? 

What the hell were they thinking? Britain with its lack of romance and over abundance of blood politic was going to piss off the world for this. Hadn’t they learned what happened when governments meddled in private affairs from their old failures at marriage laws? Preservation of the wizarding race of an grave importance, but not important enough to take people’s freedom to find their own happiness.

What was the point of having a growing population if there were all miserable? 

As he figured, the Bulgarian Prime Minister issued the official statement a mere day after the article came out. The entire Vratsa compound was quiet as the entire team and staff sat and watched the address. The riots in Sofia were already underway, picket signs with slogans that demanded freedom were in the crowd. 

Hermione sat beside him and squeezed his hand and she explained very clearly that Britain’s choice to impose such rules on its population was the result of a myriad of factors that had nothing to do with Bulgaria or the rest of the world. 

“ _ While Bulgaria will use the Soulmate charm, it is not mandatory to participate. _ ” She scowled at the words in her mouth. “ _ Should you participate and you are found to be a match with someone from a country who has enacted this insane law, I assure you that your rights as Bulgarian citizens will not be infringed upon. It is your choice to know or not. It is your choice to love and marry who you wish. So long as this land is Bulgaria, it will remain that way. _ ”

Viktor and the rest of the team let out a cheer for their Prime Minister and Hermione cheered along with them.

“Could we watch the Greek Minister’s speech?” Marin asked nervously.

Sergei changed the channel immediately. The Greek Minister of magic wasn’t at all what Viktor had expected, a timid little man who stammered through his statement. Greece was undecided about how they would handle any international soulmate matches between Greece and Britain.

“ _ At this time, Greece has no plans to enact such a law, but it is mandatory that everyone eligible for marriage be tested. I know the people of Greece have longed for an easier, more accurate way of finding their soulmates and we have delivered it. _ ”

“That’s bullshit!” Marin yelled, standing and slamming his hand down. 

“Marin,” Hermione said. “Watch your hand.”

He hissed as the pain caught up with him. She changed seats and took his hand to check the mending spells she’d put on it from the day before. 

“No more punching tables,” Hermione scolded. 

“I--,” he grit his teeth. “This is such bullshit.”

Hermione pat his leg, speaking in gentle Greek to him. “I don’t think Athens will stand for it let alone Kalamata. He’s not going to risk full-scale riots just to please the British.”

Marin’s shoulders slumped and he worried his lip, the flash of his engagement ring on his left hand keeping him calm. 

“It’ll be okay,” Hermione assured. “You and Adrian will be just fine.”

“He’s probably freaking out.” He said. 

“Probably.”

The Greek declaration was why he was walking into the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic, alongside with a good number of his team members. Marin and Adrian held hands, their engagement rings rubbing against one another as they walked in dressed in Vratsa Vultures colors and glaring at the Ministry officials. 

Journalists captured their entrance, bombarding them with questions about how they felt about the law. Most of them were Bulgarian so it really had no direct effect on them so long as their loved ones were also Bulgarian. 

“Marin is our brother,” Mihkail said. “We’re here to support him and hope that the Greek Minister understands that he has made an enemy out of a great number of people by going along with Britain’s nonsense.”

Viktor was impressed that Mihkail managed to keep his voice so calm when Marin and the rest of the team were practically seething. He supposed Mihkail’s diplomacy was the reason that he was captain.

They were lucky in that every ministry involved had also agreed to keep an international record so that anyone of any country could be tested at any Ministry of Magic. The woman manning the desk in the soulmate division smiled up at Viktor, fluttered her eyelashes and flirted even though he was quite obviously he wasn’t interested. Her attention flitted between the group of men and only went back to her job once it was clear that his teammates weren’t having it either and Adrian looked about ready to punch a hole through her desk.

The Bulgarian Ministry of Magic was a characteristically warm building made of polished stone and high ceilings. The soulmate division was decorated in the same way, yet seemed tainted in light of the political situation that brought them all here. They were all given forms to fill out with their basic contact information to be added to the International registry. 

“Mr. Acropolis,” a journalist called. “What will you do if you find that your soulmate isn’t your fiance?”

Viktor felt Marin flinched, his eyes darkened. 

“I’ll break my wand,” he said. Viktor’s eyes widened.    
  
“Th-that seems a bit extreme,” the journalist said. “Your soulmate--”

“Can go to hell,” Marin said. “If soulmates are forever the way we’ve been led to believe, what difference does it make if I marry them in this lifetime or the next? What good is it to be miserable with this person that I may never have met before? I have found my happiness in this lifetime, what right does the Minister have to interfere with that?”

He stammered.

“Besides,” Marin said. “Isn’t that Britain’s punishment for non-compliance? Since my Prime Minister is currently  _ blowing _ Britain, I can only imagine that decree will come soon after. _ ” _

Viktor’s stomach twisted and he thought of Hermione. Adrian stared at Marin, his expression shocked. Marin turned back to him and lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Adrian’s ring. Adrian’s smile is a soft, loving thing that he’s sure a journalist has captured. He wonders how many other athletes and public figures have made similar statements about non-compliance. 

_ Maybe-- _

“Mr. Krum,” someone asked, a journalist he was sure. “Have you anything to say about the British law? Is it true that you are involved with a witch from Britain?”

Viktor turned, his eyes dark and his jaw clenched. The man flinched back, his eyes widened in fear. Mihkail placed a calming hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“I think it would be best if you left,” Mihkail said and the man quickly scurried away. 

If his anger had merely been simmering beneath the surface, it was bubbling now as he slid the clipboard across the desk towards the woman along with the rest of his teammates. They were each given a small ball of gold. His name and basic information engraved itself on the ball and he sat with his team to wait for the spell to finish whatever it had to do.

It was eerily similar to the choosing of assistants for the Triwizard tournament. 

_ Perhaps that means that-- _

He shook his head. The charm they used wasn’t a perfected version and the choices had been limited at the time. The sand fell through the hourglass on the woman’s desk, counting down the thirty minute wait time. Per the woman’s instructions, it could be longer if their information didn’t appear on the small ball of gold clearly enough.

When the time was over, she inspected each of their tokens for clarity and dropped them into a chute. They couldn’t see where they went, but seeing the little ball with his information engraved on it disappear gave Viktor a sense of finality. 

There was no escaping it now. 

The woman tells them that it usually takes about a week for their tokens to be mixed around in the International pool and they would contact them if a match was found. 

“For now you’re free to go.”

Marin hissed at her, “ _ Free my ass. _ ”

They left the Ministry and went to the pub down the street for lunch and a round of drinks. The conversation is stilted with Marin and Adrian leaned together, fingers twined. Marin is furious. Adrian’s expression is bleak, but he clings to Marin at his side. 

Viktor doesn’t know what he’s feeling anymore. Anger, sure. Sorrow, yes. Maybe a touch or relief, but he can’t understand why. 

He’d done it. It was over. Whatever happened with that little token of gold was out of his hands. 

“Would you really?” Adrian asked softly. 

“Would you?” Marin asked.

“Your career,” Adrian said. “I’m just--”

“Ivan will understand,” Marin said. “As a man who was happily married to someone who was not his soulmate, as the surrogate father he’s been to all of us.”

“Will you be alright?” Adrian asked. 

Marin chuckled, “Will you leave me if I do?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I’ll be fine.”

It’s sweet, Viktor thinks. Sweet enough that he feels nauseous and excuses himself after paying for his lunch. He takes the longest route back to his home he possibly can. Marin’s words poking at the stubborn despair in him, the resistance. 

_ Why can’t I do the same? _ He thought strangely. 

Marin was right. Ivan would understand. His career, as illustrious as it was, wasn’t meant to last him a lifetime. He had money enough that he could live in the muggle world. It wouldn’t be hard to acclimate to it.

What is it that was holding him back from just being  _ free _ from all this concern?

He opened the door and smiled lightly at Hermione’s shoes by the door. There were no lights on, so it was likely that she was still sleeping. Hermione had been staying over for the weekend. He entered the bedroom to see her still sleeping in his bed, the majority of her curls were twisted into a long braid, covered in a silk scarf when he arrived. The locks that resisted, as wild as he was, spiraled and curled from beneath her scarf. Her face pressed into his pillow.

She looked so free, relaxed in her sleep. The weight of everything that weighed on her mind was left to the waking world. Viktor wondered if he looked that unfettered in his sleep. 

Viktor pressed a hand over the ache in his chest. 

The world spins, revolving between here, now and a time in memoria. The faintest sound, a voice yelling at him. A faceless figure gesticulating wildly pulling at him to come. The body freezes and something wet splatters across his face. His lungs burn a hollow scream of distress as he gathers the body close. His arms dyed red with blood as the faceless form no longer moves. There’s light swirling around them and he screams as the body is stolen from him. Hands grab him, drag him away from the body encased in light. Pain plunges through him, a thick, hot metallic glob of blood in his mouth. 

His arm is pain and then gone. 

His leg.

The world goes black and pained and in the distance he can hear himself screaming. 

_ Leave her alone! Isis! Isis! _

The world settled again to his quiet bedroom. He can’t breathe,clutching his chest and trying to rub away the ache, checking his limbs to be sure that they were there and the phantom pain was just that.

_ What the hell was that? _

Whatever it was, it had his hands shaking, reaching out to touch Hermione and flinching back all at the same. 

He could lose her. 

Some horribly violent thing or simply whisked away by some faceless stranger that hadn’t even gotten the chance to speak with her because of some law. Worst yet, he wouldn’t know for certain until she came of age in September. He had  _ months _ of festering and uncertainty to look forward to. 

Gods help him.

_ Penance, _ he thought. There was a finality, a certainty to that word that rang true. There was a resignation and hyper-vigilance too. If the vision he just had was anything to go by, then he’d had reason to be. Aside from the graphic and all too real violence against his person, there was the addition of another name to the list of mythological figures that made no sense to him in their order or their reference.

Hephaestus, Athena, Ares, and now  _ Isis all c _ oupled with the face of a woman who looked at him like the world and definitely wasn’t Hermione. They hadn’t talked about their visions since they’d realized that the temple in Athens was one that they shared. He wasn’t sure what good it would do now and didn’t think he could recount the vision he’d just had without breaking into a cold sweat.

They hadn’t talked about a future together either. 

_ She’s sixteen, Viktor, _ he chided. 

It wasn’t exactly the time to bring up 2.5 kids, last name changes, or whatever other stupidly domestic thing his mind could think of. He felt ridiculous. At once wanting to pull her close and run as fast as his legs could carry them away from it all. Wanting to keep her away out of a fear that didn’t make any sense. Whenever Hermione had tried to bring up their future beyond her seventeenth birthday, no matter how inane, he’d steered the conversation towards anything else since the article come out. The last time she’d been asking about what he’d like for his birthday and somehow he talked them into the history of broom making. She’d narrowed her eyes at the topic change, let out a withering sigh and promptly bowed out of the conversation.

The ticking clock that had been going on at the back of his mind since they met had only gotten louder, drowning out any sort of sense. He’d hoped that coming to terms with the fact that they weren’t soulmates before September would quiet it and give him the peace to just  _ live _ and enjoy their time together. Yet the ticking clock hadn’t responded to anything, getting louder and more insistent, pressing him to create this distance between them.  

_ Enjoy the time we have _ , she’d said. It was a nice sentiment, but much easier said than done. How was he supposed to enjoy it when every moment they spent together could be tearing some vital part of Hermione to pieces? 

_ Fear of what? _ He asked himself.  _ No one knows if any of that is true. _

And besides, Hermione had fears, but she was anything but fearful. Where had it all come from, seemingly drowning out his sense? The vision of spears through the faceless person before him was enough to tell him what it was he feared, yet not give him a  _ why _ .

Who she was, he had no idea, but his heart still ached and his hand still shock from watching her be killed. She had been important to him in his past life maybe. He dared not think that she was Hermione in another life. Dare not think that this fear he’d been struggling with was because of whatever moment that vision was about. Whether what they had was clouding her ability to find her soulmate, or him find his, the stupid charm they would be forced to endure would see through all that. If the article was right about the accuracy of this charm, there would be no option. 

There wasn't even hope for a whirlwind elopement because she wasn't seventeen yet. Hiding out until she was wasn’t an option given how bloody famous they were, not to mention the tracer that would still be on Hermione courtesy of the British Ministry of Magic. They’d have to live as muggles. Her family and his grandmother would support them, but to what end? 

What if they couldn’t come back?

What if it ruined everything?

He couldn’t breath-- 

_ Viktor, get a hold of yourself. _

Her career up in flames before it had even begun.

His career cut short when it had just started to get easy. 

Their families perhaps under scrutiny, shamed, or exiled for helping them? It was already such a fine line having her spend the night so frequently. William and Hermes had been straightforward in their threatening of his life should he do anything before she was legal. 

_ She’s sixteen, Viktor, _ he reminded himself.  _ For goodness sake, she’s still under a trace. You can’t be serious! _

Even if they could elope, the British Ministry had put a freeze on the department that handled marriage registration. He wasn’t entirely sure what country Hermione fell under completely, but since her primary wizarding education was through the British Ministry, he would bet that the British marriage freeze would stop them. There was the muggle world, but there was no sense in trying to get married in the muggle world as Viktor didn’t have a muggle identity. Sure, they would essentially be untraceable by British Ministry standards when she turned seventeen, but that didn’t mean they’d be free. What would they do afterwards if the entire wizarding world had decided to be against them?

_ Bulgaria would never. We could live anywhere once she turns seventeen. _

Viktor huffed at the optimistic side of his brain. They couldn’t live  _ anywhere _ . Being away from her family after struggling so hard to really connect with her parents wasn’t an option. Going into hiding would draw targets on their families for non-compliance and they’d never be able to safely contact them, no matter how lax the punishment could be.

_ You’re panicking Viktor. Slow down and think-- _

_ I can’t! _

Altogether, it was a bullshit law, but Britain was still recovering from the war. Their view of this was preserving the wizarding populace, moving on from any radical thoughts opposite the government and proving that everything was going to be fine. It wasn’t as if Britain had a history of being understanding of love with their long history of marriage laws that had gone in an out of existence with the turn of history. 

He shuddered. British blood laws and the legislation surrounding blood purity had been historically cruel leading to a number of issues. Under the guise of giving most people exactly what they wanted, an easy way to find their soulmates, they had a law that would probably hold for centuries. 

_ Does Britain have that kind of jurisdiction over her? _ Viktor thought again, frustrated that such a detail seemed to slip in and out of his mind leaving him to flounder around. He wasn’t sure. 

_ Ask,  _ something in him urged, but he swallowed it down. Unable to get the words out around the terror in his heart. Where the hell was it all coming from? He wasn’t this irrational by nature. He wasn’t this out of control or self -defeating. Sure, he was stubborn, but this-- 

_ What the hell is going on? _

He buried his face in his hands, his eyes burning with tears. His jaw clenched in frustration--

_ Gods, _ he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t make sense of any of this right now. 

It was too much.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to punch something.

He wanted to hex the British Minister of magic and the Alliance of Ministries with something dark and twisted. 

He wanted--

“Viktor?”

He startled, sucking in a sharp breath at her voice.

“Is everything okay?” She asked. 

“Y-Yes,” he said, toeing off his shoes. “Just had to go to the Ministry.”

“Ministry?”

Viktor kissed her hand, “Boring, don’t want to talk about it. Would much rather have some more spicy making out.”

She chuckled softly, opening her arms to him. Viktor leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers. She was still warm and drowsy from sleep, melting against him but as much as he tries, he can’t get himself to--

“Wait.”

She blinked up at him, confused. Viktor licked his lips, nervously. She was so beautiful, the thought. His stomach twisted and something in his mind was screaming at him. 

_ Stop it. _

_ Stop it. _

_ Stop! _

_ STOP! _

_ Too deep already. Too fast-- too close-- too-- _

The world spins and he’s staring down at a body with no face, a woman he’s sure from the size and shape of her. Blood on his hands, pooling beneath them. A voice speaking to him, above him. 

_ Punishment. _

_ Retribution _

_ Penance. _

_ Penance. _

_ Never again. _

“Viktor?” Hermione asks again, pulling him free of the vision.

_ Fuck. _

"I’m sorry," he croaked. Her brow furrowed as his eyes burned. “I-I can’t.”

“It’s okay if you’re not--”

"Until your birthday."

Her eyes widened beneath him and he sat up, turning away from her. 

_ His hands covered in blood. His own voice screaming. _

He could still hear the wind of wherever the vision had taken him, still see the woman’s blood on his hands. Had he killed her? Had he been a murderer in a past life? Whatever it was, he couldn’t figure it out like this. 

He’d never figure it out with these feelings jumbled together, confused and conflicting in his head. Like a million Viktors pulling him in different directions.

"I think it would be best if we took a break," he told her.

*

_ Say something, Hermione _ .  _ Say something. _

She didn’t recognize the voice at the back of her mind urging her to say something, but it hardly mattered. 

What was she supposed to say to that? 

Somewhere in between his words and his tone, she could hear him him telling her that he didn't want her, couldn't touch her, couldn't bear another moment when the end of their relationship was so imminent. 

_ He’s going to leave me. _

The world spins around her and she only sees an armored back walking away from her. She hears screaming, feel she throat going raw from it. Her legs ached from running after the fleeing person. 

_ Don’t go. _ She felt, but she said nothing. Some part of her smiled wryly, indulgently even like watching someone run from self-fulfilling prophecy. 

_ You can’t run from me. _

"Okay," she said, hugging her knees. 

Confusion at the least is what came to mind. She should be hurting, torn up really, but there was just a resigned sigh in her heart and a small, wry chuckle.

_ You can’t run from me.  _ It said, but what the hell did that mean? She thought she’d gotten past the point of new voices in her consciousness, but apparently not. She was manic-depressive, not multiple personalities the last time she checked.

_ Because you’re such an expert on your mental health, _ she thought wryly. 

"I'll make breakfast." Hermione said, rolling off the bed and walking to the kitchen.

She felt Viktor jump at her movement, but she didn’t turn back to meet his eyes.

“Hermione,” he started, following her out the door.

“Eggs?” She asked, opening the refrigerator.

_ What are you doing? _ Hermione thought, watching herself go through the motions of making food.  _ That’s all we have to say? Breakfast is hardly relevant right now! _

Her stomach rumbled as if to answer her questioning and her body continued to move around the kitchen until breakfast was ready. She sat down at the table and Viktor took a seat across from her.

_ Say something! _

_ For what? _ She thought viciously.  _ What good would it do?! _

Viktor had already made his decision. 

They ate quietly. When breakfast was done, Viktor washed dishes and she went back to the bedroom to shower and get ready for the day. She paused at the nightstand. The smooth edges of her potion’s container gleamed in the late morning light. Hermione contemplated the potion, feeling the edges of a particularly nasty tilt into depression at the edges of her mind. Those wry, indulgent emotions receded as panic and anger swirled together in the shadows, warring with each other for control. 

_ Take it then talk to him. _

_ Don’t take it. _

_ You have to take it. It won’t do any good for you both to be unsteady. _

_ Don’t take it. _

_ What good has it ever done? _

Unsteady? She thought. She was talking to herself. Unsteady had been at least twenty minutes ago, if not longer. Making  _ breakfast _ after Viktor’s announcement had been unsteady, an out of body experience that she hadn’t even experienced before.

And what did that mean? 

She sank down, taking the potion in hand, her eye burning with tears of frustration. 

_ What good would it do? _ She thought. Viktor had decided it for himself. While she would respect him, that didn’t mean she had to like it. It wasn’t just the physical closeness, but the mental and emotional one too.

_ I think it would be best if we slow down, _ he’d said. 

As if that were an option really. The only thing left to do was to actually have sex and knowing Viktor’s noble streak, it wouldn’t happen untils he was seventeen anyway. 

What was the point of them being together if they couldn’t talk about being together?

_ Just ask him. _

_ What good would that do? _

Hermione snorted, despite her worry. The stubbornness in her said that it had to be said, they had to talk about it. 

The realist thought otherwise. Viktor, who he was, is, and had ever been, was a man who made up his mind on his own. He’d rather go the hard route to understanding, rather play it safe above anything. 

It was no good to say it if he wasn’t ready to hear it. He’d just push it away and push her away even faster.

_ Hadn’t she learned that much? _

He wasn’t going to listen now, not with the article and the uncertainty swirling around in his head. Hermione had felt the panic he was slipping into sitting at the edge of the bed as if it had been her own. Had felt Viktor’s mind be pulled away from the present and  into some past she had never known earlier.

Whatever that vision had shown him, it had spooked him and sent every door of his inner life crashing closed and locked against her. 

Perhaps he couldn’t run from her, but he damn sure tried.

She set the vial back on the bedside table and showered before dressing for work. Viktor came in as she uncorked it. A wry tilt to her lips, her heart filled with melancholy and an impotent frustration. 

There was nothing she could do. 

_ There had never been anything that she could do, _ she thought.

She guessed that that’s why they were soulmates.

“Hermione?” He called gently from the doorway.

She uncorked the vial and drank. 

The world spins again as she lowers the vial. It isn’t Viktor’s bedroom that she’s in now. But a palace. The vial in her hand is empty and the world beyond the window was beautiful. 

Peaceful, she thought. 

_ “Ishtar,” _ someone called from behind her. “ _ Have you taken your potion? _ ”

_ What good does it do? _

The world spins again and she’s back in Viktor’s bedroom. 

She corked the vial and chuckled a bit. Viktor stills tood in the doorway, not watching her to be sure, but observing, curious, nervous. At least he wouldn’t worry too much about her since she’d taken the potion. Perhaps he’d spend that energy towards getting his head on straight. For merlin’s sake, why did he have to take all of this on by himself?

_ Maybe that’s why, _ she wondered. If she could feel his panic, maybe her mental state was somehow affecting him. If that was the case, the best option was to keep herself calm so he could make sense of his own thoughts without her though patterns affecting him.

_ We all know that’s easier said than done, _ she thought wryly.

“What is it?” Viktor asked. 

“Just a vision.” she said and stood up. “I’m going to head in a little earlier. I’ll see you later.” 

She leaned up to kiss his cheek, clinging to some sort of normalcy, before leaving.

*

Viktor heard her leave the house. He thought it would be a chance to get himself together, but that didn’t happen. When the door closed, his entire body lit up with pain, making him collapse to the ground and struggle to breathe through it. 

The world spins and spins again, tossing him into a vision of what most certainly had to be his own death. Trampled, stoned, beaten, he isn’t sure, nor can he see the faces above him, but he feels the pain.

He lay on the ground long after the vision left him.

Visions of past lives were supposed to be the wizarding equivalent of muggle tattoos. He resented muggles in this moment, lying still as the pain ebbed away. His mind drifted to that expression as she held the vial of her potion. 

The expression on her face wasn’t once he’d ever seen before. There was a touch of melancholy and a wry tilt to her lips. What reason would she have to look at her potion like that? What had she’d seen?

_ Why didn’t I ask? _

_ What good would that do? _

_ It’s never done any good before. _

He frowned at that sentiment, unable to trace it to its source in his mind. Before what? His hands burned, his mind scrambled, and everything in him told him that she was his, his to have, to hold, to love forever. If only she was a year older then there would be no problems. They would have been married already or at least well on their way to being so.

He scoffed, that wasn’t true. 

If there was even a chance that Hermione's soulmate was out there he would let her go-- no matter how much it hurt him.

_ Viktor _ , he thought.  _ You’re being ridiculous. _

_ Don’t do this, Viktor. _

_ We love her too much not to. _

He was supposed to be the mature one, the older one in this relationship. He was supposed to have a far more level-head that he seemed to be, yet he hadn’t felt like it at all. There was a mess of emotions and thoughts that weren’t familiar enough in their construction for him to recognize. They were just little flashes of feeling, little thoughts and whispers that would flare up and then vanish before Viktor could really wrestle with them.

No matter what was going on in his head, that could have gone better.

_ What the hell is wrong with me? _ Viktor wondered, trying to shake his head free. 

Hearing voices that sounded like him, were him, but didn’t speak like him? This rushing crazy, conflicting feeling and the thoughts to go with them? What was all of this?

Eventually, an alarm went off telling him that it was time to head to practice. He forced himself to stand, even as the pain hadn’t completely left him and went to the Vratsa Compound. Practice was brutal, trying to stay on his broom and get through the drills while everything in him screamed in pain. The vision returned mid-flight, nearly tumbling him off the broom. 

“Viktor what happened?” Sergei asked as Viktor rolled onto the ground off his broom.

Viktor curled up, unable to hear most of what he was saying as the visions kept pulling him back, the same one, sometimes different and each more painful than the last.

He woke up in Hermione’s office with a cooling cloth over his forehead. There was the scent of jasmine in the room and quiet. He groaned, sitting up. Hermione appeared in the doorway.

“Good, you’re awake, how are you feeling?” Hermione asked.

“Like--” He wretched, turning away from her to vomit over the other side of the gurney he lay on. 

“What--” Viktor asked as she lay a soothing hand on his back and rubbed.

“It’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s alright. Just breathe, okay?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Viktor asked. “Am I sick?”

“Not in the medical sense,” Hermione said. “Focus on breathing for me.”

Viktor sucked in breath after breathe trying to fight back the nausea. Sergei and Mihkail came in as she gave him an anti-nausea potion and cleaned up the mess.

“What’s going on?”

“How often do you have visions, Viktor?” Hermione asked, her clipboard and Quick-Notes Quill hovering beside her.

“More frequently, recently,” he groaned, curled up on the gurney. 

Her hand carded through his hair, soothing even as his body pulsed with pain and his stomach barely settled. 

“One or two a day?”

“Five or so yesterday,” he said. “Maybe more.”

Hermione hummed, thoughtfully.

“So,” Sergei started. “What’s going on?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed, “I may have an idea but, one more question: how long do they usually last?”

“I don’t know. A couple of minutes maybe?”

“Does that have something to do with it?” Mihkail asked. “He doesn’t have dragon pox or something does he?”

Hermione shook her head, “No, he’s not physically sick, per se. His magic is just a little more active than he’s used to.”

Viktor wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, nor did he hear her explanation as he drifted off to sleep. Whatever was wrong with him, he hoped that it wouldn’t stay wrong long. 

*

According to her research, waking wizarding visions and dream visions were completely different and only waking visions were potentially dangerous. When sleeping, the body is mostly shut down and it’s only the mind that travels through whatever magical passages into the past memories of a wizard’s soul. While the body was awake, the whole body could be dragged along for the ride resulting in psychosomatic symptoms of the memories. 

It was usually truly dangerous when a person’s magic became overactive too quickly. Hermione had had visions her entire life and, if her theory was correct, was always in contact with at least one of her past selves’ memories. Her transition from sleeping to waking visions happened early in life. 

From the conversations they had, Hermione could guess that Viktor’s visions had started relatively late in life and had ramped up exponentially since onset. His body simply wasn’t prepared to deal with it. And, like apparating gone wrong, it was taking a toll on him. 

“He’ll be okay,” Hermione assured Sergei and Mihkail. “Something like wizarding growing pains.”


	27. It Could Mean So Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ocean waves and sunsets.

Viktor really should have refused. Yes, they were his parents, but he also didn’t have the relationship with them that would have warranted the agreement he’d given them. There was apparently a lot more of his childhood self still alive in him because he agreed. He went to the Krum manor knowing the kinds of people his parents would invite to their party. 

As far as he could tell, this was all his fault. 

“It is,” Gavrail said leaning against the locker as Viktor recounted the nightmare he’d walked into with his parents. “It really is.”

“I thought you’d learned not to say yes to your parents,” Mihkail said. 

“Will you let me finish?” Viktor gritted out.

“Sure,” Mihkail said. “But I have a feeling it’s going to piss us off even more.”

“Anastasia Karkaroff,” he said.

Silence passed in the locker room. 

“Want to run that by us again?” Marin asked, sitting down beside him.

“Anastasia was there.”

*

He’d arrived dressed for the kind of midday parties they preferred: dress robes tailored to look more muggle than not and the mindset that he would have to make a lot of small talk. It was the first time he’d been to the Krum Manor in a long time and as he expected absolutely nothing had changed. 

He’d managed to duck, dodge, and otherwise avoid the waifish women who batted their eyelashes at him and had more than like been invited by his mother in hopes to catch his eye to find the woman in question. 

It had started out just fine. He’d sat down, gotten only a glass of punch from one of the house elves and was managing to listen to his brother go on about his latest project that was going nowhere. They’d stumbled on to the marriage law soon enough and even that conversation had managed not to irk him the way he thought it would. 

Of course, his mother disagreed with idea on the principle that  _ good _ pureblood matches were in danger. Viktor chose to ignore that in favor of asking for a shot of whiskey in his next cup of punch from the only house elf that he could trust to do it right. 

Theli nodded her head and gave him a kind smile before apparating to the kitchen with a soft pop.

“What do you think Viktor?” His mother asked. “Surely you can’t agree with marrying someone you’ve never met even if they are your soulmate.”

Viktor blinked, “No. I can’t.”

She smiled brilliantly at him and while his heart quaked, there was something niggling at the back of his mind. His mother never smiled at him like that. 

“Oh darling, it slipped my mind, we’re over here.”

_ Of course, _ he thought. That smile wasn’t for him, but for whoever was coming up. He took another drink from his glass and turned to see who it was. His father, looking as stern as ever rounded the corner with Igor and several other vaguely familiar faces before his breath caught. 

_ No, _ he thought, horrified.

Anastasia Karkaroff walked in behind the Karkaroff men with the same smile he’d seen her wearing the last time they’d seen each other and Viktor wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

*

“Isn’t she sort of your ex?” Gavrail asked.

Viktor groaned, “Not exactly, but… close enough.”

What they had wasn’t dating. It was meeting each other’s needs. They’d never had sex, but the high of their meet-ups wasn’t something to be ignored. Nor could he ignore the fact that her face now, older from the years between then and school, had been appearing in his dreams more often than not as of late.

His mother had introduced her as if they hadn’t attended school together. In her eyes, he saw the memories of those meetings. He was polite and shocked at seeing her. She’d changed a lot since he’d last seen her. It wasn’t his parents’ obvious wish to match them up, nor the scent of her love potion laced perfume, her makeup, or the fact that she was beautiful that made him nervous. 

It was the fact that Anastasia was scheduled to go in for her soulmate testing the week of Hermione’s seventeenth birthday. If perhaps, Viktor had three more glasses of alcohol than was a good idea and woke up with a pounding headache and feeling raw on the inside, then no one seemed to notice until he sat down on the bench in front of his locker with his head against the cool metal.

“One, you’re an idiot for getting that drunk before practice,” Mihkail said. “Go get a hangover potion before we start.”

Viktor groaned. He didn’t think he could face Hermione right now. Professionally or personally. 

“And two, what’s she got to do with anything?” Mihkail asked. “You love Hermione.”

“Yes, I do,” Viktor said. “But--”

“No,” Gavrail said, stopping him. “You are Bulgarian and so long as you are, you have a right to choose. You love Hermione and while you aren’t clear on what Britain and Greece can attempt to do with her future, you know what you’d like to do at least. Right?”

Viktor nodded. 

“Then what does it matter?”

“At some point, Viktor,” Mihkail said firmly. “You have to put yourself, what you want, and what you need above everything else.”

Viktor swallowed thickly. Mihkail had cut ties with his family and had never looked back because they asked him to give up what he loved. He remembered how hard it was for Mihkail to do so, how much he agonized and struggled with the decision, but he’d come out stronger and happier in the end.

“You have to learn to love yourself more,” Mihkail said and stood up. “Now everyone get changed. Viktor, get a hangover potion, and let’s get on the field.”

He opened his locker to see a hangover potion in his locker.

_ For the love of... _

He contemplated the potion, but he didn’t drink it, choosing instead to punish himself by running his laps and going through his training with a pounding headache. 

“Hold!” Sergei cried stopping activity on the pitch as Hermione walked out in her uniform jumper and non-slip shoes. It struck him that he’d never seen her in it. She’d been there for a while, but he’d only ever seen her in her office where it would have been a bit silly to wear it.  It was probably for the best.Today she wore a Bulgarian red dress cut in a closer fitting Muggle style. The jumper was black with red trim and a red Healer’s crest on the shoulder. He bet there was lettering across the back as well. Her long curls were corralled up in a brilliant red sphendone and she carried a clipboard and a vial in her hands. 

He winced as she walked up to him and held out the vial. She said nothing and neither did he. The entire field was quiet watching them. Her eyes were too stern to meet, so he took the vial and uncorked it. When it was empty, she lifted the vial from his hands and walked back off the pitch.

“All done,” she said to Sergei as she passed him. 

His headache was gone but he still felt like throwing up his insides. Either the hangover was too far gone or his churning stomach wasn’t caused by the hangover.

After practice, Sergei pulled him aside. 

He caught the sight of Hermione walking down the corridor with her nose in her book. It made his lips twitch. He hadn’t seen her like that since Hogwarts and he couldn’t help but scoff at his younger self and how worried he’d been about such a little thing when he was currently dealing with the potential of losing Hermione through no fault of their own. 

“I’m not going to ask, because clearly there’s something wrong.” Sergei said. “There’s an Anastasia here to see you.”

Viktor turned his head quickly to Sergei before glancing back to where he’d seen Hermione. She was gone. Whether she heard Sergei or not didn’t matter. 

“Tell her I’m taken.”

*

“Hermione!” He said knocking on her door. “Hermione talk to me!”

Hermione didn’t hear him, sitting on the small couch in the living area of her dorm. She just couldn’t leave this internal battle unfinished to respond to him, not yet. Not when she may have been losing.

“Hermione, please?”

_ Why? _ Hermione wondered, turning her head as his voice broke through the haze. 

It was happening again. She was floating out and sinking beneath the quiet that half of her always seemed to exist in. She could feel herself, braver, stronger, louder now, being dragged out to sea with that other part.

_ Just try,  _ she pleaded.

She couldn’t do this without all of her on the same page. Without all of her on dry, sturdy land. In her mind’s eyes, she is holding a rope and fighting against the tide to pull the other her out of the quiet ocean where she can’t hear and can’t feel anything. That Hermione is floating and the further she is dragged out, the more her perspective switched. She couldn’t right now. She couldn’t afford to sink beneath this ocean, she may never come back.

What about her dreams? Her ambitions?

_ We have things to do, Mia.  _

_ I… _ Hermione relaxed more and sunk further. Faintly, she can feel the tug of the rope she is at once holding and surrounded by. 

_ No, _ she thought desperately, fighting against the calm of the quiet and tugging back. 

She didn’t want to sink. She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to let it take her over again. If her mania was a tornado, if it was self-destruction and revelation, then her depression was the ocean floor, so weighed down that it would crush her, kill her before she truly understood what was happening. 

It was so quiet there. Lonely, but it was quiet.  _ Books were easier. _ They’d helped keep her head above water.  _ Letters were easier. _ They’d helped her kick towards the shore. Neither were enough now. She had to make the choice to fight for it now, before she lost the will to fight for anything. 

To fight for her dreams, her ambitions-- for them.

To fight.

_ Just try,  _ she pleaded again pulling back on the rope.  _ Just try! _

The Hermione drifting out broke through the surface and she let the waves carry her to shore. The divide in her mind shimmered and she walked heavy and shaky onto the shore, into the now. 

She was in Vratsa, not a beach. 

She was on a couch and Viktor was at her door begging her to talk to him, to let him in. 

_ What about me? _ She thought.  _ What about letting me in? _

She frowned, a twinge of anger catching her off guard and forcing her to her feet. She almost cheered for it. Anger could be gold. Hot, burning passion, the gusts before the tornado set it could be good and at least better than the ocean floor. 

“ _ Hermione, please? _ ” 

Though she stood from the couch, it felt more like walking across warm sand. The haze and hallucination cleared as she neared the door. The ocean of quiet would always be there for her to return to, but she had to try and stand on the shore now in between the gusts and the tide. She had to face him at the border of reality and imagination before a riptide carried her out or tornado carried her up.

When she opened the door, he let out a breath of relief, seeing her. She stared at him at the other side of the threshold. 

“I--”

She dragged him in by his shirt and closed the door behind him, pushing him back to kiss him. He stilled, but she wasn’t giving up, wrapping her arms around his neck, lifting herself up to wrap her legs around his waist.

“Hermione--”

_ No, _ she thought. He didn’t get to say it. Not now. She didn’t want to hear it. Whatever it was would make no sense to her rational or irrational mind. He tastes  _ good, _ maddeningly so all heat and hard edges against her softness. His arms wrapped around her, supporting her. 

Couldn’t he feel it? Why couldn’t he feel it when it was making a mess of her internal balance? Why could it make her so reckless and send her flying without the crash, but he couldn’t feel it? She didn’t need to see his face in her visions to know it was him. And what the hell did that matter anyway? She could feel it. 

Wasn’t that enough?

He turned his head. “Her--”

He turned his face back and slid her tongue into his mouth. A trick she’d learned from him. His body quaked and he pushed off the door on quaking legs. They could fall and tumble to the ground for all she cared, but she couldn’t stop until he felt it. 

Until he understood that there was nothing to say or do. There was nothing to do, but let it happen. In the next lifetime, they’d have a chance to do whatever someone else thought was a good idea maybe. In another lifetime, this wouldn’t be an issue, but now she would live.

His hand shot out, catching his balance on something and swinging them towards the couch. He pulled back to breathe, but she shifted her weight and toppled them over onto the couch with him beneath her. 

“Stop,” he panted, wrapping his hands around her shoulders.

She could hear the waves calling. She froze looking at him, panting. 

“Hermione, I--”

Hermione’s eyes darkened and she released his shirt. Her stomach twisted and he flinched as she drew back. 

_ Won’t, _ is what she thought. Whatever it was that was weighing on his mind, was something of his own making and thus he would have to destroy it. Was it convenient, she wondered, to pretend like it didn’t make sense? Perhaps he didn’t see it the way she did. 

_ Why would he? He’s Viktor Krum. _

Her gaze drifted over the room as the ocean ebbed across the floor. Turning the wood to sand, to water, and to the ocean. The tide ebbed towards the coach, a small mound of sand in a vast ocean and he was there. 

_ “Hermione--” _

“It’s fine,” she whispered. Her voice seemed flat and small, so small that  she could barely hear it over the sound of the waves. His voice though clear seemed to barely struggle over the sound of it too. Ocean as far as she could see around the little circle of sand. This small beach they shared. Viktor was pinned beneath her. 

Hostage. 

_ Don’t leave me. _ She thought and tilted her head.  _ Why don’t you ever want to stay enough to do it? _

She closed her eyes and breathed in the sea wind. Those thoughts were coming back. Thoughts that weren’t necessarily hers now, but hers from another time maybe. 

When she opened them, the ocean had receded, the sand had receded to edges of the room. The lines of reality poking through the hallucination. 

_ Vratas. _

_ Bulgaria. _

“It’s not--”

“It’s fine.”

*

No, it wasn’t fine, Viktor though. Her eyes had gone hazy, unfocused, staring into a distance that wasn’t there. Her eyes watched something moving. She was drifting away from him, rocking slowly as if in time with a tide he couldn’t see. 

She shifted her weight and he caught her around the waist, stopping her. 

“Mila, come back to me. Look at me, okay?”

Her eyes found his and while her tears came, her eyes said nothing. They gre dimmer even as they looked up at him. 

“Hermione?”

*

Books were easier, they’d kept her kicking to stay above water. And she could go back to books. 

The ocean roared, waves crashing in the distance and getting closer. Water rushed around her ankles. The little circle of sand was sinking and Viktor was vanishing before her.

“You don’t want me,” she said to the disappearing phantom.

The water was at her waist now.

“ _ Hermione _ \--”

“You never wanted it enough.”

“That’s not--”

“I’m fine.”

“Mila!” He thundered, sitting up to place his hands on her shoulders.

She looked at the hand on her shoulder and wondered how something so phantasmal could be so warm, how he was solid enough to still hold on to her. It didn’t matter. The waves may have stopped rising, but it was only a matter of time and that was okay. She hadn’t been happy there, but it hadn’t hurt as much as forcing herself to stand on land and fight for them when he wouldn’t do the same. She wondered what his soulmate would look like, if they were his type. Maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were.  

“Don’t do this,” he said, caressing her face and trying to meet her gaze. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes in the blue sky above them towards the sun. “Of course, I want you--”

“This isn’t about sex,” Hermione said, her words echoed through her mind, mingling with the ocean wind.

The waves are so peaceful.

Peace, she thought. Yeah. It was always peaceful there, tranquil.

“I don’t understand, Hermione.”

“85 percent of wizarding marriages don’t last because one party finds their soulmate outside of that marriage,” she recited, blankly. “The other 15 percent simply fail from lack of happiness. Of that 15 percent, ten are soul mate pairs.”

Viktor ‘s hand tightened on her shoulder, the other twitched against her fair and the sun began to set, she watched its descent towards the horizon.

“You care about me,” she said as the brilliant blue grew darker and the sky became streaked with reds and oranges. “But you don’t love me. Maybe you think that you can’t love me as much as your soulmate or as much as my soulmate would love me.”

Stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky. The ocean wind turned cool and she shivered. Sunset meant another day. It meant that maybe she would wake up on a different shore, waterlogged but alive.

“You don’t love me enough to try,” she said. “And that’s okay.”

“That’s not true.”

“We both know words are air,” Hermione said. “Without proof.”

His hands slid from her shoulders. She stood up, her gaze on the setting sun. A beautiful sunset to something that should have lasted.

“If you wanted to be with me, really wanted, then there wouldn’t be anything to stop you.”

She heard him move, but he was nothing more than a voice now. She stood alone, waist deep in the ocean. 

“I cannot ask you to abandon your career and elope with me to the muggle world! You aren’t even legal there either!”

“You mean you wouldn’t.”

*

Viktor choked. Hermione turned slowly, her gaze still staring out into a distance. She was right. He wouldn’t. He could. He wanted to, but he wouldn’t because he knew what she would say. She wouldn’t ask. She would have packed up without a second thought and walked away from it all if he asked and he couldn’t-- wouldn’t do that.

He wouldn’t try. 

“Mila, it’s not logical.”

“Love isn’t logical.” 

She walked around him to grab her shoes, her jumper and her bag. When her shoes were on, she left the room. 

*

Rain pelted the glass, the streets, and anyone else who was foolish enough to be outside. Hermes looked up from his book with a shake of his head. It had been raining for hours Athens and the storm had only continued to grow before finally reaching Hermes’ house.

A knock sounded on the door. 

Who on Earth could be coming to his home through this storm was beyond him, but he moved quickly to the door to look through the peephole. He opened it seeing Hermione on the other side and held his ground as she threw herself against him, squeezing him tight and crying silently, soaked and shaking. 

He brought her inside and wrapped her in a thick towel. He made them both mugs of tea and stroked her hair as she curled up to him. 

From his conversations with Eleanor, he had a feeling that Hermione and Viktor were at odds about the marriage law. Wishing more than anything that Viktor would knock on the door for her, yet knowing that he wouldn’t, Hermes held his granddaughter until she’d cried herself to sleep. 

It was probably for the best. 

After all, what good is a love that wouldn’t try?


	28. So Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, when will you take a chill pill? And it's probably not cheating, but she'll think about that later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I have exciting news to share! This story has made it to the finals of Hermione’s Haven's #HavenAwards18 in the Best Marriage Law category!
> 
> I know, I could hardly believe it too. It was a nice surprise to log in to today. So thank you, everyone who has been reading, who has nominated this story and just been generally supportive. I don't think I've ever had a story nominated for an award before.
> 
> Voting for the Finals round ends 9pm EST on February 26th so feel free to vote via this link: https://goo.gl/forms/jyNIPN49YsrG77Yj2
> 
> Thanks again for reading and being patient!   
>  Now on to the story!

After having all night to gather his thoughts and convince himself, Viktor apparated to Hermes’s house in Greece and walked up to the front door. For a moment, he knows that he has had all night to think about this, but then realizes that in all that time he hadn’t come up with anything to say.

_ Are you always so eloquent? _ A flirtatious voice whispered at the back of his mind. 

His lips quirk, something like a fondness blooming in his chest even though he can’t identify the owner of the voice. He knocked just loud enough to be heard. He heard once that he performed best under pressure, maybe this would be enough to--

“She isn’t here.”

He turned to see Hermes coming around the side of the house.

“Sir, I--”

“Do you have a moment?”

Viktor swallowed but told him that he did as the older man walked up the porch steps let him into the house. Crookshanks meowed but didn’t move from his perch on the living room table as Hermes led Viktor towards the kitchen.  They sat down and Hermes poured him and Viktor a glass of wine. 

“She came last night, but she left early this morning. I trust you know why.”

Viktor’s shoulders slumped, “We argued.”

“The Marriage Law?”

“Yes.”

Hermes’s brow furrowed. He’d figured as much. He still didn’t understand what Britain was thinking, nor how it would actually apply his granddaughter, but she’d seemed so unworried about it that he hadn’t given it much thought. 

“It’s a stupid law.”

From Eleonora told him, wizards had always envied muggle. In her words, wizards had the power to move mountains, change the weather, and do the impossible but they could never be certain of their soulmates. 

_ It just isn’t feasible, if you think about everything that a wizard could do in a lifetime to change her soul,  _ she’d told him shaking her head.  _ For good or bad, being a wizard takes too much of a toll on the soul to ever have a match made so simple as a physical mark. _

Hermes smiled at the name on his left ring finger, the soul mark that marked him as a muggle for sure. He hadn’t asked Eleonora what sorts of things a wizard could do that could alter a soul, but simply left it in the hands of fate who had clearly made her decision on the matter.

“I’ve-- I’ve hurt her. She’s right. I want to ask her. I want to run, but I won’t.”

“Wouldn’t?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “I wouldn’t ask her to elope with me.”

“Because El’ and I wouldn’t be deprived of a proper ceremony?”

Viktor’s lips twitched. Hermes grinned at him. He supposed that he should be grateful that the man was making a joke at his expense rather than threatening him with bodily harm. 

“I wouldn’t want that. We shouldn’t have to give up,” he paused, searching for the word.

There were just so many words that could fit. 

“ _ Everything,”  _ he decided. “To be together.”

_ Everything, _ Viktor thought. 

“Bulgaria is participating in the charm, but isn’t binding anyone, are they?”

Of course not. Bulgaria wasn’t so idiotic to try and run the lives of its people like that. It stood in solidarity with several other countries with regards to the marriage laws that Britain was enacting. Bulgaria wanted access to the charm, but navigating the political nonsense of Britain to get it required them to jump through hoops like requiring Bulgarian citizens of a certain age to get tested. The questions about what happened if a Bulgarian citizen ended up a soul mate with someone in a mandatory marriage territory had been clear in that Bulgaria wouldn’t be enforcing it and the mandatory marriage territory would just have to get over themselves. 

“No,” he said. “That is Britain.”

“What about Greece?” Hermes asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Viktor said. “They haven’t said. Why?”

“Well, Hermione is a dual citizen.”

“What?” Viktor frowned. 

He’d never known that. Not that it was a thing to celebrate. Greece was looking to be as spineless and as ignorant as Britain was from the timid press releases and responses the government was giving.

“She’s English in the Muggle world,” he said. “And if I’m not mistaken, Greek in the wizarding.”

“What?”

“Her home address is here for wizarding purposes. I’m her wizarding guardian.” 

“Why?” Viktor asked. “Shouldn’t she be going to school in Greece then?”

Hermes sighed thinking back. It had been an option. One that he almost wish he had fought for then. Hermione may not have met Viktor if she’d been going to school in Greece, but she also wouldn’t have to worry about the stupid law.

_ Not that she seemed to be worried about whatever any Ministry had to say about it.  _ Hermes thought.

When McGonagall had come to the Granger house and they’d begun to get Hermione’s paperwork together, Hermes had yielded to Monica and Wendell about Hermione’s enrollment being at Hogwarts so they could see her on breaks more easily, but Monica and Wendell lived in a house surrounded by nosy neighbors and friends. They would have noticed an owl swooping down to deliver letters or strange things happening around the house when Hermione’s magic was out of control. Here in Greece, where Hermes’s nearest neighbor was almost a mile away, none of those things would be an issue. Not to mention that Hermes had far more free time to deal with anything school related for Hermione than Monica and Wendell did.

Viktor blinked, confused as Hermes smiled at him. “From what El’ tells me, her wizarding home address could make a difference and at the least you could make a case for her exemption from Britain’s system, especially if Greece makes up their minds about it soon.”

Viktor groaned and Hermes’s brow furrowed. It was obvious that Viktor was troubled with it and while Hermes didn’t fully grasp wizarding law nor why soulmates seemed to be such a big deal in the wizarding community, he could see that Viktor and Hermione stood on opposite sides of the issue. 

Viktor was worried about the  _ what-ifs _ of global wizarding politics. 

Hermione wasn’t worried about it at all. 

_ None of those laws have anything to do with me,  _ she’d said.  _ Nor does anything anyone else thinks about it. _

Apparently, Viktor thought they did.

“The point is that there is a chance, Viktor,” he said, seeing Viktor’s troubled expression. “Yes, you hurt her, but you’re in a relationship that’s going to happen, soulmate or not. The question is if you’re willing to make it right.”

Viktor sighed.

“Talk to her, Viktor,” he said. “Listen to what she has to say about it before you both go too far in your panic. Love is a powerful thing if you let it be.”

Viktor nodded and took another breath. “We have a gala to go to tonight as a team. She will be there?”

“I think that pretty gown upstairs is an indication that she will be.”

Viktor thanked him for the wine and headed out. Hermes watched him go with an odd sense that it would only get worse before it got better. 

_ Pray some wizarding god is looking out for you,  _  Hermes thought.  _ Pray they have mercy too. _

*

Viktor arrived at the Vratsa compound praying that the team and staff could get through the day of practice and the night’s festivities without incident. Knowing his luck with galas and press conferences, it was highly unlikely that they would. Practice rolls on smoothly. It feels like he’s on auto pilot even as his eyes scan every room to at least see Hermione. 

After lunch, Mihkail told him that she was holed up in her office organizing. He’d been there to get some help with the pain in his shoulder. The visit had been polite, friendly, and efficient. If he hadn’t met Hermione when she was truly happy, or Viktor hadn’t given the entire team a head’s up about her mannerisms, he wouldn’t have thought there was anything wrong.

“Are you two okay?” Lyudmil asked, plopping down on the bench and rolling a hard foam roller across his thigh.

“Just going through a rough patch?” He grimaced at how weak that sounded. Shouldn’t he at least know what to call this mess he’d made?

_ Get a fucking grip, Krum. _

Andon snorted. “Marriage Law?”

Viktor sighed, “I-- I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t really have a choice in it until she’s old enough anyway,” Andon told him. “Perhaps you shouldn’t stress about it until you know for certain?”

He groaned. “It’s too late for that.”

Lyudmil snorted, “It’s never too late to cut out unnecessary stress in your life, Vitya.”

Andon sat down and slung an arm around Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor wanted to groan. While he appreciated the brotherly camaraderie they usually had, he didn’t want it right now. He didn’t want comfort. 

He didn’t want anything really but to wallow in the mess he’d made of things. 

_ Penance, _ he thought, catching a brief grip on one of the thoughts hindering his ability to be logical. 

What did he have to pay penance for? Yes, he’d made a mess of things, but it wasn’t irreparable, was it?

_ Yet. _

He tightened his fists in frustration, wishing the whirling and intrusive thoughts would just go away. 

_ Where the hell did you all fucking come from anyway?! _

“Dear Vitya,” Andon began with a tone that was only half meant to be consoling.“She loves you probably more than you deserve.”

Viktor snorted and shoved Andon’s arm off him. The bastard had the nerve to be grinning at him the way he always did. They had met her briefly while visiting during the TriWizard tournament and while her presence on the compound had drawn them closer, Viktor was sure that they didn’t have the authority to say such things. 

“Shut up. What do you know?”

Andon shrugged, “Just saying that the woman  _ loves _ you and it’s pretty obvious that you love her, too.”

Lyudmil hummed in agreement, “Yep.”

“This isn’t about that,” Viktor said. 

“What else could it possibly be about?” Mihkail asked with a scoff. “You’re scared shitless of losing her. What we can’t figure out is the  _ why? _ I mean, she’s Greek right?”

Viktor groaned, “It’s not that simple.”

Lyudmil shrugged, “She doesn’t seem worried about it-- seems that simple to her.”

Viktor looked up to the ceiling and prayed for strength. He wasn’t even sure what they were talking about now. Every wizard grew up on the stories of soul mates and what it could do to you to resist that call, to them, to your future selves.

“The tile isn’t going to help you,” Andon told him, rocking up onto his feet. “Stop freaking out and talk to the woman.”

“Yeah, you’re starting to act  _ English. _ ”

Viktor glared at Mihkail, “Don’t.”

Mihkail shrugged, “It’s true, not a single riot. Where’s your Bulgarian spirit?”

“Drowning in melancholy,” Andon said, flourishing his arm out. “ _ Call me but love and I’ll be newly baptized! _ ”

The locker room door burst open with the rest of the team and all the noise they brought with them. 

“Stop it, Andon,” Viktor said. 

“Nonsense,” Andon said hopping up on the bench and launching into a slew of lines from a myriad of Shakespearean plays about love that grew more dramatic by the second.

Viktor growled and shoved him, but Andon had the best balance of the team and didn’t even waver, turning smoothly and delivering his lines as if he was rehearsing.

“Since when did Andon read?”

“It’s Adrian’s doing,” Mihkail assured.

*

“Are you Hermione Granger?’

She turned and looked up at the woman standing not even two feet from her. 

“Yes--”

She gasped at the slosh of champagne on her face. Silence filled the room around them as the woman set her glass down and glared at Hermione. Beyond the shock of having a drink thrown on her, Hermione took in the woman’s feature. Pale, graceful features, blue eyes, thin lips and rich dark hair that lay in glossy curled over her elegantly slim shoulders. 

_ Beautiful,  _ Hermione thought. A standard of beauty for at least some part of the world and familiar too. As if she’d stepped out of a book’s description-- 

_ This must be Anastasia,  _ she thought with an odd indifference. 

She’d heard from Vlad about Anastasia. She was just as beautiful and as skinny as he described. A part of her wondered if she blew at her hard enough if she would fly away like a gnat. 

She smirked to herself at that thought. Never let it be said that these extra voices in her head didn’t have a sense of humor. This was the woman who’d practically driven Viktor from his family home with all of her incessant visits and his parent’s obsession with getting them together. Viktor had been attempting to bridge the gap between him and his family only to have it widen because of Anastasia’s reappearance in his life.

_ And mine. _

She shoved that thought away. 

It wasn’t productive, nor relevant to the fact that this high-born, probably pure-blood witch had just thrown champagne at her like they were in some muggle soap opera. 

_ They think she is his soulmate, _ Vlad had told her, more worried than she had been. Whether that was because of how he thought Hermione would react or the thought that it was true.  _ He looks horrified. _

Learning that they’d known each other as children, that Anastasia was related to Karkaroff, had made his parents’ obsession with her made sense. It was even more interesting that upon seeing her Hermione recognized her from one of her more recent dreams. The woman with Anastasia’s face and build had been hanging off Hermione’s faceless stranger surrounded by Grecian columns and then again wrapped in the arms of someone who looked like Viktor in a dark toga. 

She still wasn’t sure what to make of it really.

“I don’t know what kind of spell you have Viktor under, but stop it before things get ugly,” Anastasia said. “ _ Mudblood _ .”

_ Mudblood, _ the word ricocheted around in Hermione’s mind for longer than she liked. She hadn’t been taking her potion because she hadn’t been able to keep much on her stomach or get much sleep. Visions and overactive magic had been keeping her up. The last time she’d tried to pick up a vial, it had exploded in her hand.

Apparently, her magic wasn’t interested in being controlled or calmed anymore.

She’d been doing well enough to make it through while sorting through her emotions. The emergency potions that didn’t require sleep or food to take didn’t aggravate her magic to the point of explosion. She guessed that was because they only took the edge off rather than completely shutting the overactive parts of her down.

They weren’t the best, but they were enough to level her out to where she could recognize and control her own impulses. Those potions weren’t made for the maelstrom that was quickly rising in her. They weren’t made for threats or slights against her person and today had been pushing the limits.

_ Don’t, _ she thought, slowing her breathing and forcing her body to relax as much as possible. The tension in her right arm wouldn’t release.

_ But she-- _

Hermione counted to eight as she held the next breath. Anastasia’s eyes widened, angrily at her. 

“Well, what do you have to--”

Hermione blinked and felt her body swing in a smooth arc, landing a solid punch to Anastasia’s face, tumbling her to the ground. She heard someone coming towards her. Maybe it was Viktor, maybe it was someone else, it didn’t matter. The woman gawked up at her, holding her cheek as Hermione whipped out her wand and cast an anti-bruise charm. She wouldn’t be blamed for ruining the woman’s face even if she deserved it. With another flick, the champagne vanished from her clothing and her face. 

The Hermione that had punched Anastasia was pushing at her more sensible side to finish what Anastasia started and show her the  _ reality _ behind those soap opera moments. 

_ Bloodlust,  _ Hermione thought. That was new. 

For a moment, her world spins and she’s looking down at another version of this woman through time and reason with a sword to her neck made of pure light coming from the edge of the wand in her hand. 

She heard a voice like her own, but older, angry, “ _ I am Pallas Athena, defender of this city. Find yourself out of my sight or I will remove you from it permanently.” _

“Get out of my face,” Hermione said glaring down at her.

The woman stood, shocked, horrified and turned away as two men who looked a bit like Viktor forced their way to Anastasia. They helped her walk away and glared back at her, saying hateful things that would have cut herself up on the inside if she didn’t feel so full of rage.

_ “Mudblood trash. _ ”

She stood alone watching the three of them retreat to the back of the hall and turned to meet the eyes of those who stared and made no move to check on her. She heard Gavrail’s voice demanding to be let through and a few others that she recognized, but she didn’t move as the whispers started up. 

“Have something to say?” Hermione asked with a mean sneer on her lips.

Her heart quickened and she screamed at herself to stop it before she made anything else worse. She thought, just maybe, she’d grown up past punching wizards even when they truly deserved it. Hermione took a step and watched a group of witches and wizards step back in terror. It felt  _ good _ . A dark sort of satisfaction that she hadn’t ever considered enjoying before. 

_ Stop it, _ a small voice pleaded.  _ Please. _

She turned again as the crowd broke and Viktor walked towards her.

“Hermione,” Viktor took her hand. Her eyes shifted to the contrast of his olive skin to her brown. 

The world spins again and she looked up into a face blurred by time. 

_ It’s over now, _ the touch says and then the face vanishes, leaving only Viktor’s worried expression.

“What happened? Are you alright?”

She took her hand from his grip, turned, and placed her wand back in her clutch. She told Sergei and Ivan that she was leaving early and walked calmly out of the room. She heard Viktor’s footsteps coming after her, but she didn’t turn back. 

A knife of fear twisted in her chest, uncanny and unwanted, at the thought of facing him. She didn’t know her own mind, she didn’t feel in control any longer. Her magic was sparkling on her fingertips with a rage that wasn’t truly her own. She could hurt him, could kill him and she’d never forgive herself for that. 

_ Leave _ , she thought, turning a corner and walking to the floo point.  _ Now. _

“Hermione, wait!”

She threw a handful of powder down and vanished in a rush of green flame. Viktor groaned and turned around trying to find someone, anyone who he could ask what the hell happened. He’d only stepped away for a brief word with a journalist. When he returned Hermione was glaring at the crowd around her and the room was full of frightened whispers. Magic had pricked his skin and the world spun, blurring the lines of the venue with a battlefield and a faceless figure, surveying the field covered in blood. 

“Mihkail,” Viktor pleaded, unstable on his feet. “For the love of the gods, what happened?”

Mikhail steadied him, but it was his brother who spoke.

“Your little tramp hit Anastasia.”

Viktor whirled at the sound his brother’s voice. “What did you just say?”

“Your little  _ mudblood _ tramp--”

Viktor grabbed him by the front of his shirt. Viktor curled his fist tight and drew back. He heard a frightened gasp behind him and more whispers as Mihkail grabbed his arm. 

“Easy, Viktor,” he said. “We don’t really need this right now.”

“Seems like she has corrupted you,” His eldest brother sneered. “Stop messing around with her and find a  _ real _ lady of standing, as benefits the Krum name.”

Viktor took a deep breath, but then released him, letting him crumple to the ground. He turned to find his parents. He found them sitting together with Anastasia who was cupping her cheek and weeping pitiful tears. 

“What did you say to her?”

Anastasia looked up, teary-eyed and trembling. “Viktor, she--”

“What did you say to her?” Viktor asked again through gritted teeth. 

“We told you to get rid of her and pick a nice pureblood girl,” Iliya hissed with a face like his own, twisted with prejudice and wrinkled with age.

_ Bitter, _ Viktor thought. His father was such a bitter man and it showed in every wrinkle and furrow on his brow.

”That Grecian  _ mudblood-- _ look at what she’s done to Anastasia--”

“You,” Viktor started, his face hot. “Have never been parents enough to make those decisions for me.”

He turned on Anastasia as Iliya and Aello went pale. “And you…”

Anastasia gasped, “But she--”

“ _ Loves me _ ,” Viktor cut her off. “And you have crossed a line.”

“It won’t matter,” she said. “She isn’t your soulmate and you know it.”

He flinched at those words, but stalked away to tell Sergei and Ivan that if his parents or Anastasia were to be at an event in the future he wouldn’t be coming. Anastasia’s words had set off a wave of nausea and uneasiness in him. The truth of them striking too close to home when he still hadn’t made any sense of what he was feeling. Ivan tightened his grip on his cane and met Viktor’s gaze. The understanding smile the old man gives him does little ease his stomach, but it’s better than nothing. Viktor took it as permission to be excused and left.

After Apparating to the compound, he grabbed his broom and took to the air until he was too exhausted to do more than lay on the pitch and let the tears come. 

Yes, nothing was certain, but still nothing was certain. For all he knew, the time in between now and her birthday was simply counting down the time until he lost her forever. He found himself hurling up what felt like his soul at the thought.

*

In the morning, he walked to the Healer’s section of the compound. Again, he found that he hadn’t figured out what to say, but was drawn to do something…

_ Even if that’s stand there and look like an idiot,  _ Viktor thought. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t making plenty of a fool of himself recently. 

Getting bogged down in feelings and possibilities that had not come to pass and made no sense whatsoever. None of it made any sense, yet somehow he knew that the answer was one that Hermione had already puzzled out.  

The Healer’s section of the compound had been going through major changes since Hermione had joined the Vratsa staff. For one, the fact that it was an office instead of just a poorly kept potion’s lab became apparent not even a week into her being onboard. He could only imagine how much the clutter had grated her nerves.

All the surfaces seemed to sparkle with a beauty charm today, at once too clean to touch and too beautiful to enter. He imagined it was was a lot like Hermione’s mind. 

He walked into the office and found her sitting at her desk drinking a potion, eating a slice of butter and jam toast, reading from a floating book and spelling a bookshelf together all at the same time. He smiled. This was the Hermione he knew and understood well. It was frightfully good to see her behaving in such a recognizable way when he hadn’t been able to recognize his own mind for weeks.

“Good morning.”

She paused briefly to spare him a glance. Her eyes swept over him and they glimmered with understanding before she continued eating. They feel resigned, dismissive almost as if he was wasting his time being there. Maybe he was considering that he had  _ nothing _ to say.

“Good morning,” she replied evenly. 

Their gaze met for just a moment before she stood from her chair and crossed the room to  the cabinet she was finishing. He took the moment to look around the room. There are filing cabinets that he’d never seen before, gurneys set up, and the door leading into the potions lab was open. Rather than the odd smell of potions, there was a gentle floral scent in the air. He guessed lavender, but he couldn’t be sure.

“I--”

Hermione’s eyes shot to him and the words died in his throat. He turned to close the door behind him as she finished drinking the potion in her hand. The jar floated back into the potions labs towards the sound of glass and crystal lab equipment washing and drying itself. She took a seat at her desk that was covered in paperwork. 

He stood in front of her desk, scrambling for the words that wouldn’t come. 

_ Look at me, _ he thought desperately, wishing that she could hear his thoughts. 

“Are you alright?”

“Is that what you actually came here to ask me?”

Viktor winced. Her tone was flat, disinterested but not without feeling. It was simply muted behind something he could name.

“About my mother…” he said. “My family. Anastasia, really. I--I don’t believe what they do.”

She looked up at him from her paperwork. Her gaze was almost clinical, seeing clearly things he hadn’t figured out. He wished she would just _ tell  _ him what it was that he was missing, but that would have been too easy. He didn’t deserve easy. 

He didn’t deserve mercy from her. 

_ Penance. _ The word came to mind again and rather than trying to wrestle with the reasoning behind it, he clenched his fists hard enough to feel his nails in his palms. 

_ Speak, Krum. For Merlin’s sake. _

“I don’t want to hurt you, Hermione.”

Hermione turned her attention back to her paperwork and flipped the page.

_ Try again, _ he thought. His stomach twisting uncomfortably at the obvious dismissal. 

“I know that I have hurt you already. It’s-- I’m-- I’m sorry.”

Hermione sighed, heavy and aching.

_ Wrong again, Krum, _ he thought.

She set her paperwork aside, laced her fingers together and met his gaze. It wasn’t as clinical as it was before, but it wasn’t warm. Her gaze held no blame nor anger. Instead of everything he expected, there was only a cool knowledge and calm. 

_ Detached? _

No, that wasn’t right. Her eyes peered at him as one would watch a person searching the entire house for an object that was sitting in plain sight, but simply wasn’t where they left it. It wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t comfortable either. 

_ Penance. _

He didn’t know how to protect her from himself. He wanted to ask, but he doubted that she would tell him how. 

_ I should know this, _ Viktor thought. Relationships at their core weren’t nearly this hard, yet something was making a mess of his insides, his mind and heart scattered in a million different directions like a broken mirror and there was no  _ reparo _ strong enough to fix it.

_ Pull yourself together, Krum! _

“But you don’t understand why, or how,” she said. “What good is an apology if you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for? How can you protect me from something you don’t fully understand? Something you won’t accept? How can you assume that I need protecting if you aren’t even sure what the threat is?”

Viktor swallowed. “That is fair.”

Hermione stood and rounded the desk. She waved her hand and summoned a slab of black rubber from the other side of the room. It’s a distraction, he knows. Just enough to trip him up mentally, maybe attempt to trip him up out of his own way, because he couldn’t see what she was--

Why was she so  _ calm _ about all of this?

How did he know it was a distraction?

Was it a distraction or a direction? 

Something in him tumbled and a chill slid between his shoulder blades at the sight of that slab of black rubber. He wondered if it was the same feeling that people got when people walked on their future graves.

_ Focus, _ he thought.

But he couldn’t, his attention split, splattered, and oozing anywhere and everywhere but where he wanted it. 

“I don’t want an apology from you,” she said. “I just want to be with you. To be happy with you for as long as possible.”

She’s said that before with the same conviction she said it now. 

“But that’s no good if you don’t want that too,” Hermione said. “Especially,  if you don’t even know what you want.”

“Of course I know what I want!” Viktor said.  “I want you.”

“Then what is the problem?” Hermione asked. 

The coolness lifted from her gaze allowing a frightening intellect take its place. He almost preferred the clinical gaze to this cunning one that promised she would cut his excuses to the quick until there was nothing but what she’d been trying to allow him to figure out on his own. 

He wasn’t sure whether to run or beg her to do it. 

“The Marriage Law, your age--”

“What does any of that have to do with us right now?” She asked. “Honestly?”

Viktor frowned at her question. She leaned against her desk and set the rubber in her hand to float. 

_ It’s a distraction, _ Viktor reminded himself, forcing his gaze to meet hers and stay there. 

Her eyelids lowered and her lips tilted. She looked  _ amused _ . What on earth did she know that he didn’t?

_ Just tell me. _

_ You don’t deserve such mercy. _

_ Shut up!-- _

“The Ministry’s laws, my age, careers, whatever-- what does any of that have to do with wanting to be with me right now? Wanting to be happy right now?”

He opened his mouth again, but closed it shortly after, not really understanding the question. Of course those things were important. Just because they hadn’t taken the time to discuss the issue of her age before the law came about didn’t mean that he hadn’t think about it. Had she never thought about it at all? Any of it? Her career? Anything? 

_ That’s not like her, _ he thought.  _ What am I missing? _

_ Damn it, Krum. _

_ Get it together. _

_ Give it up, you could never win against her anyway. _

His brow furrowed at that fleeting thought. What the hell did that mean? Where did it come from?

_ Focus! _

“I--” Someone knocked on the door to tell them that they were holding a meeting in the main conference room.

“We’ll be there,” Viktor said.

“Hermione--”

Hermione set the slab down and walked towards him. 

“I don’t think we have anything else to talk about until you can answer that.”

Viktor’s stomach clenched as she walked around him and left the room. 

The world spins and his heart clenches. His hand reaches out to catch the phantom leaving him behind and then it’s gone. He stood in her office just long enough to get his breathing under control. Hs heart raced, beating a panicked tattoo hard enough to hurt. 

_ What the hell was that? _ He hadn’t ever had a waking vision like that before. Too brief to make out much, but far more  _ visceral _ than any vision had the right to be. Slowly, he made his way to the conference room. When he arrived, Hermione was chatting with Andon, laughing at some story he was telling about his weekend and Sergei looked to be on the edge of bursting into laughter. 

The announcement was simple, one that Viktor vaguely remembered anticipating after a reporter asked him something about his thoughts on charity. There was a charity event being held on behalf of St. Mungos’ children’s unit that he and Fedovra had been chosen to participate in. It would be a celebrity match of the 14 hottest players in the league hosted in Rio in Brazil’s brand new Quidditch Stadium.

He remembered that the Rio Stadium had had some construction troubles and they had struggled to get it completed which had led to this year’s World Cup being held elsewhere, but since it was on schedule to be finished just after the World Cup, he guessed a deal had been worked out so that Rio could host this event.

“How many of those votes were swooning teenage girls and boys?” Andon asked, making the entire team snigger. “Especially after Fedovra’s wardrobe malfunction last year.”

Fedovra promptly threw a napkin at his head as the team went up in laugher. It had been the fault of the chaser who’d fouled her by grabbing her uniform. It had ripped since she was determined to make the goal. They found out that day that Fedovra preferred fine French lingerie under her uniform.

_ Merlin, help us all. _

The Healer Board had assigned Hermione along with several other Quidditch specialized healers to cover the game. As usual, the entire team said that they would be in attendance as it would be held on a day off and they couldn’t miss a chance to support their “little brother” and their “prickly sister”. 

“You two will be splitting your time between here and the Canon’s compound starting next,” Sergei said. “The week or so before, you’ll be there for the entire week to train with the team fully. Don’t make us look bad and please try and keep your uniforms in tact?”

Fedovra glowered at him as the team laughed. Viktor couldn’t muster up anything but a wince. Splitting time between Vratsa and England wouldn’t give him much time to speak with Hermione, but perhaps with the separation after that dismissal he could muster up something more to say than the first things that came spilling out his mouth. 

_ I love you. _

_ I want to be with you. _

_ But I can’t risk losing you like before. _

He stood mid-step at that thought. That was new. A new thought so heavy with melancholy that Viktor couldn’t breathe around it. The wave of despair seemed to shut off all function. He looked up to see a ghost, he was sure on the ground before him. A faceless woman struck through with weapons, bleeding a thick pool of red on the otherwise pristine floors of the Vratsa compound. 

He watched the pool growing beneath her as she slumped forward and seemed to cease breathing. 

Mihkail found him that way. Pale with shock, staring at the image only he could see, eyes alight with a magic that wasn’t conscious he was sure and tears streaming down his face. 

“Hey,” Mihkail said softly, touching his arm.

Viktor jerked back, his eyes lost their glow as they focused on Mihkail’s face.

“M-Mihkail, I--”

“Maybe you should go home,” Mihkail said. “You don’t look too good.”

He shook his head, “I’m fine.”

Viktor looked beyond Mihkail’s shoulder to see Hermione paused at the end of the hallway, watching him with eyes that knew more than he did. She offered no acknowledgment beyond meeting his gaze before she turned and walked down the hallway. 

He was fine.

He would be, wouldn’t he?

He realized later, while clutching the toilet bowl in his flat, that it would take more than an affirmation to make it true.

*

Splitting time between the Canon compound and the Vratsa compound proved to be just what Hermione thought it would be: interesting to watch. She would check up on Fedovra and Viktor at the beginning of every three days since they began the daily rotation and every time she saw him, Viktor grew paler and more uncomfortable in her presence.

_ Served him right, _ she thought a little too viciously. 

It wasn’t her fault that he was making this all so much more complicated than it needed to be.

_ Like he always did, _ she thought as she sunk into the chair in her office. She needed to re-stock her healing potions and ingredients, but that could wait just a few minutes. 

She leaned back in her chair and stared up into the ceiling, giving her mind a bit of a rest before committing to getting up. Her eyes burn the way they have been when she was alone for all the time since they argued. As usual, her gaze drifted towards the ancient, leather-bound notebook peeking from beneath a stack of parchment on her desk.

It was strange how the little book had become such a source of comfort when it had begun as such a mystery. She picked it up, flipping until she reached the words that had given her strength to get out of bed these last few weeks. 

The same words that carried with them the same sort of assurance that she wished Viktor would understand.

_ My love, _

_ Though you are bonded to her and how it hurts to see you, I take solace in knowing there is forever for us. There is forever to be together. What is this one lifetime to me? Have her. Be the husband you have been raised to be, my blacksmith. Pray you find solace. There is an eternity of love waiting for you beyond this moment’s pain. _

She traced the delicate script at the bottom of the entry. The words were as sure, as cunning, and as strong as the name there. 

_ Pallas Athena _

She had encountered Pallas Athena’s words several times now along with Neith, Ra’s, Hephaestus, Ares, and  Artemis. She wondered how many other names from ancient divinity she would find? How many pantheons would she find in this journal? She wondered if by reading these bits of history, fragments of these past lives, she would find some sort of relief from this weight on her chest.

She wondered if Neith or if Athena had mental illness. Maybe her mental state was simply a symptom of the current time or a culmination of all the mental and spiritual scars throughout the ages. She wondered how strong of a reincarnation they were, if the ties that held this journal together were still as strong or if they were frayed with life after life? 

If nothing else, the theory that wizards had once appeared as Gods to muggles had some grounding. This wand she had now was an ancient relic of a time when the power of a wizard and once they had a very different kind of focusing tools, or at least used them differently. 

From what she’d been able to dig up at the Wizarding Library of Athens the things called wands had once taken the form of many different instruments. The Aegis of Zeus, Apollo’s lyre, Hephaestus's hammer, the sword of Ares were all magical instruments and focusing tools that obeyed the wills of their owners and (maybe) creators. 

She had a theory that Athena’s weaponry was no different, and that perhaps her new wand was it. It would explain why she’d felt such a connection with it if she was an incarnation. She glanced at the clock. Corking healing potions and cutting herbs wouldn’t take that long.

She could spare a bit of time for this. 

She picked up her wand from where it sat in the middle of her desk and closed her eyes. 

There was a battlefield in her dreams two nights ago, filled with bodies twisting and struggling for victory against one another. She had walked the battlefield with them, charged against enemies with only the thought of victory to spur her forward. 

_ Against enemies I defend. _

The wand in her hand pulsed as she charged forward across the plain and lifted a bright shield of energy to block the oncoming arrows. 

_ I strike them down from a distance. _

The battlefield shifted again to a sunset setting under advancing clouds. Thunder and lightning filled the sky, blocking out all light. She saw a group of chariots riding towards the forest where she was perched. The weight on her hand shifted with a faint shiver of power as bow of moonlight  extended from her hand. She drew the string taut, watching an arrow materialize of pure light and released it into the head of one of the chariot drivers. 

_ And on the battlefield. _

The nightscape of the forest melted away as she opened her eyes. She could hear the sounds of a different battlefield, an large grassy plain that she’d never journeyed to except in her dreams. Men and women screamed their last testaments in her ears as she stared at the moonlight bow in her hand that shifted and extended into a large glowing spear from the wand in her hand.

She jumped up with a gasp, marveling at the spear in her hand. Her breath sped up, her heart pounded. It had just been a theory!

She laughed incredulously, drawing the tips of her fingers over the near translucent spear. It was solid beneath her fingertips and impossible. Dots and images from centuries ago connected in her heart and spilled out into her blood. The spear faded, leaving just her wand in her hand as her mind raced. Her feet sent her pacing behind her desk as she flipped through her mental tomes of information.

Soulmates, yes, she knew about those. But reincarnations? True, reincarnations? 

She’d read about the incredibly rare instances of soulmates who were incarnations, but she hadn’t put much stock into it. From what she’d read, the connections that made them reincarnations to each other and their past lives were theorized to only be strong enough for two or three lifetimes. 

If the journal had kept its form because it was somehow anchored to the connection between the two lovers that traded words in the pages, or even if it was anchored to just one of them, then the theories were wrong and such connections could go on indefinitely.

_ More importantly, _ she thought staring at the wand in her hand. It seemed that she was at least one half of a reincarnated set. She had so many questions to answer, but no time to think about it now. 

A glance at the clock told her that if she didn’t get started now then corking potions and snipping ingredients wouldn’t be done today. Sure, she had the whole week to do it, but she had plans for the rest of her week. 

She carried her wand into the potions lab and got to work. As she thought, she’d gotten her healing potion quota completed without about five minutes to spare before she could head home. 

As if pressing “play” on a previously paused movie, the questions came back. 

What else could she do with this focusing tool that had persisted throughout the ages? What else could she learn from these dreams about herself? About history? About--

_ Why can’t he feel it? _

The question shocked her with its directness. 

_ Feel what? _ She wondered. Viktor was older than her. In reality, his insights into soulmates should have been steadier than hers since his magic was technically mature already, yet he was just now going through the beginnings of what most people called an “awakening”. Hermione’s waking dreams had started when she was younger. 

What was standing in the way of his connection? It could have been that he wasn’t the other half of her reincarnation set. It could have been that she was the only reincarnation and he was her soulmate, but neither of those options felt right. 

There was something that she was missing. 

Something buried in her soul’s memories that she had yet to find.

Perhaps it was the reason why he was so confused about it all. She’d sensed guilt, a guilt that he was grappling with without any understanding of it, but hadn’t figured out much more than that. As far as Hermione was concerned, there was no reason to feel guilty about anything that happened in a past life. 

It was in the past and there was no reason to let it interfere with now.

She checked her bag and frowned. While she knew that everything she needed to take with her was in the bag, there was something missing. She turned around, scanning the room. It was probably something obvious like a hair tie or something seemingly inconsequential, but she waited for her instincts to guide her. They were never wrong when it came to things like this.

Her attention drifted towards the workbench where she’d set the small square of rubber she was modifying for her post-graduate project. It wasn’t due anytime soon, she’d made plenty of headway on it, yet her instincts were nagging her about it and the toolbox she was designing to go with it.

_Well, my instincts have never been wrong before,_  she thought, shrugging and picking it up. She grabbed the toolbox as well for good measure and left her office. She thought she had most of the math correct, there were just the last few things to get right for it to all work together properly. 

When she arrived home, she tried not to think about. She ate, read a book, wrote a letter, yet her mind kept drifting back to it. Eventually, she gave in to the urge, foregoing what little sleep she’d planned to get to work on it starting with the schematics she’d been tweaking for months. 

Rather than focus too hard on the schematic she’d created, she set the pages aside and rolled out another sheet of parchment. 

The scratch of the quill against parchment is familiar and soothing. She hears a song in a language far older than any she spoke in her ears and loses sight of line between her life and a life she’d lived before. 

Rather than the small table in her room on the Vratsa compound, there’s a large, intricately carved old table covered in papyrus.

_ And what are you working on now? _ Someone asked her as she continued to write.

_ I’ll be done in a minute, I promise. _

The voice chuckled,  _ That’s what you always say. _

Large warm hands settle on her shoulders, squeezing gently.

_ Come to bed soon, love. _

_ I will. _

The lines are drawn neatly with sure strokes detailing what Hermione knows can’t be possible, but she watched the vision. Watches hands like hers  work out an impossible theory on the papyrus before something crashes to the floor behind her. 

Before she could turn, something wrapped around her neck, pulling tight and cutting off her air. She grabbed for it, dropping the instrument in her hand, spilling ink everywhere and gasping as a faceless stranger came running through the entrance on the other side of the hall.

He drew a sword as she reached out to him.

_ Help-- _

Hermione pushed back from the table, choking and rubbing her neck and gasping for breath. She coughed, sucking in breath after breath before stumbling towards the kitchen for a glass of water. 

She slumped against the counter, catching her breath before panic, fear, and exhaustion pulled her under into sleep.

When her alarm went off in the morning, she woke up in her bed with no understanding of how she got there and on her small table was a long scroll of a brand new schematic in a language that was too old to still be spoken, yet completely legible to her. 

Her brow furrowed, reading over the script and glancing at the toolkit and the slab of frustration that was her project. 

She chuckled, rolling the scroll up and placing it in her bag. 

It seemed that the past did, in fact, repeat itself and sometimes it was in the best of ways. She gets dressed in half the time it usually takes, shoved breakfast into her mouth, tossed back a potion and sprinted out the door with everything she needed for the day. 

She’d give a thought towards whether using ideas from a past life, unknowingly or not, was cheating some other time. For now, she had a schedule to keep and a good feeling that everything would work out just fine.

Even if she was apparently murdered in a past life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to my beta! Bess, you're the best! :)


	29. What For?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is at last. I'm sorry everyone.

Viktor didn’t have an answer and relatively little time to think about one in between fretting that every time he checked his mail or an owl came in that it would tell him that they’d found his soulmate and the publicity around the event. Everyone on the team had keyed into the fact that Viktor and Hermione were at odds about something rather serious for them to not be able to look at one another in the eye even before he’d left to train in England with Fedovra. Viktor wouldn't look at her and Hermione seemed content to stare him down every chance she got… At least until he started to try and speak to her and she just wouldn’t be alone with him long enough to give him a chance.

Though he was no longer training at the Vratsa compound, he’d race from the pitch, floo to Vratsa, and rush with the hope to catch her in her office before she left, only to find her gone. She hadn’t gone to her dorm, nor at his home either, but he bet that she was staying with her grandfather from the way his grandmother spoke in their letters. The pain in his chest seemed to only be getting stronger but given the state of things, he couldn’t tell if that was because of his and Hermione’s relationship, the magic twining together, or perhaps them actually being soulmates.

Gods, why did he let them go down this road? He’d known at the Yule Ball that this could happen… Knew then that he could lose her no matter how close they drew to one another, no matter how tightly their magics wound around one another--if they weren’t soulmates, there was no point, especially not with this damned law in existence.

“Ready?” Fedovra asked adjusting her uniform and grabbing her broom.

He let out a breath and nodded, walking with her to join the rest of the amalgamated team for last check-ins with the Healers and the chosen coach. He opened his mouth as Hermione reached him, flicking her wand and tapping his head to get a good read on him. 

“You’re in good shape,” she said, a wry smile on her lips. 

Fedovra watched the way Viktor looked at her, partially confused at how focused he was and how easy going Hermione seemed. Hermione was assigned as the lead Healer to the team Viktor was placed on. Sergei had come with them for support.  They set up with the team to sign autographs, tour the facilities of the new Quidditch pitch and roam the city. It was supposed to be an easy post-season match for the benefit of the hospital. Easy-going with International cooperation in mind. Hermione bade them both good luck before retreating to the locker room to watch the game and tend the medical equipment with the rest of the Healers who chatted as she worked on her project and kept an ear out for injuries. 

She could hear them whispering about her. About the fact that she wasn’t old enough to be lead Healer, no matter what her credentials were. That she wasn’t good enough for her position nor for Viktor, having recognized her from the Daily Prophet. She put one of the older healers in charge while she took her break, walking to the bathroom that was actually working on the other side of the stadium. She was exiting the bathroom to return to her post when it happened. 

_ What is Guetta doing? He’s hit Krum! Krum’s going down! _

Hermione looked up and heard the game stop as Viktor went hurtling too fast to be just a bump. Her feet hit the turf as he hit the middle goal post and spun around it. The force flung him towards the wall and he landed in a contorted heap behind the goal. By then, she was running down the pitch towards Viktor along with nearly everyone else in the stadium who were planning on dismantling Guetta. 

“Mediwitch! Out of my way!”

His team members flew down as Sergei pushed through the crowd and ordered the team to get him on a cloak and carry him off towards the locker room. At first touch, Viktor’s voice echoed out through the pitch, a scream of agony. It was enough to tell her that they didn’t have time for the crowd’s rage or their morbid curiosity if he was going to keep his life.  The red team’s locker room was closer, luckily, so her supplies would be there. All she had to do was get across the pitch.

She pressed her wand to her throat, “If you are not a trained Healer--MOVE!”

People jumped, scrambling out the way to allow her a straight path to the locker room. His team had already carried him off the pitch and into the locker room. She followed the trail of blood to where they’d placed Viktor. Mediwizards ran around grabbing supplies in confusion and the one she’d placed in charge stood in a circle with her subordinates around  Viktor’s desperate, mindless screaming came from as if his screams alone would keep him alive. She glanced at the nearest clock. Two minutes, it had been two minutes since he’d landed. Since they’d carried him in relatively quickly, the woman should have been at least halfway through diagnosis. They had eight to assess his head damage, thirteen to assess his nerve damage and maybe eighteen until he bled out depending on how badly--

“What are you doing?!”  Hermione yelled at the woman who was gearing up for a bone severing charm. 

“It’s too badly--”

Security held Gavrail and several other members of the Bulgarian team who’d come to see Viktor play on the other side. They were all yelling obscenities and threats at the group muttering about if they would need to cut his other leg off as well. The eldest woman who Hermione hadn’t liked at first meeting raised her wand and Hermione sent it, along with everyone else’s wand flying away, aiming her wand at the group of Healers.  Silence fell around Viktor’s screaming for them to not touch him. 

_ Two minutes and thirty seconds _ , the ticking clock in her head said.

“As the official head Healer for the Vratsa Vultures and the Red Team of this event, I make that decision. If you value your use of your hands, you will move away from him.”

They gawked, but Hermione didn’t wait for them to move, shoving them back behind a shield wall and rounding the bench to see the mangled mess of his right leg and his hip, the blood everywhere, bone and gushing pools of it through the scraps of his uniform.  The wild shifting of his eyes, animal and frightened. 

_ Two minutes and forty-five seconds... _

She flicked her wand and watched her medical case coming flying at Gavrail. 

“Red case, blue handle, parchment:  _ now! _ ”

Gavrail and Theseus opened the bag and let it unfold to pull out the things she asked for as she placed a hand on Viktor’s forehead to shine a light into his eyes and then to his neck to check his pulse. Elevated but strong, growing weaker as his blood pressure dropped, his breath struggling, wheezing around his screaming and blood coming from his mouth. A broken tooth? Punctured lung for sure--

“Viktor, do you hear me?”

_ Three minutes... _

He panted; his eyes focusing above him, hazy and unfocused, but he heard her closer than the voices talking about his legs. 

“My-my legs,” he stammered, “Keep her away from me! Hermione! Hermione!”

It turned her stomach. He couldn’t see her, he’d lost too much blood, hit his head too hard. But he was hanging on to his voice, his ability to communicate, screaming clearly when he should have been slurring his words with the concussion. That was a pretty good sign considering the state of things. Strings of clear obscenities and demands to keep that woman away from him when the explosions and the screaming began. 

“I can’t see!”

_ Three minutes thirty seconds-- _

“What now?” Sergei asked as Hermione traced familiar runes into the parchment and set it to hover over Viktor as she cast the related wards over him. 

“It’s hopeless,” the woman sneered. “He’s going to lose that leg and probably the other one too.”

“Someone shut her mouth or I will,” Hermione said pressing a hand to Viktor’s forehead, slick with blood and sweat. 

_ Three minutes, forty-eight… forty-nine...fifty... _

“Viktor,” she said gently  pressing the Slavic accent, “ _ It’s me _ .”

“My leg-- can’t see-- Hermione?” he gasped in terror, “Can’t feel.”

“Shh, I’m going to do everything I can, you have to trust me Viktor.”

“I can’t… I’m sorry, Hermione. I-- I should have--”

The parchment drew up a representation of Viktor to scale, cranial hemorrhaging pressing on his optic nerve maybe, his leg was practically destroyed, the other not much better, his heart was pumping so fast that it was possible that her wards may not keep up with the rate of replenishing necessary. Multiple arteries--this wasn’t just the fall, but spell work a hex darker than most. At minute four, she summoned the blood replenishing potion and made him drink it, before moving to the top of the gurney.

“I’m sorry. S-Sorry.”

She bent over to speak to him in gentle Bulgarian, her eyes on the parchment. 

“You have to trust me, Viktor,” she said. “It will hurt, but you aren’t alone. I promise.”

“C-Can’t.”

“Trust me the way I trust you,” she said softly and heard his struggling breath. 

_ Four minutes and fifteen, sixteen, seventeen... _

“Da,” he said, tears rolling down his face. She stood at the head of the cot and placed a hand on his chin, holding his head still as she worked the spell, pouring in magic and focus until the bands of white light tightened and held fast, easing the pieces to hold together and back to where they were meant to be, held in stasis by the magic combating the swelling first. She lay a thinner length of it over his eyes, working down his neck and pulling away at the first jostling of the ground. 

_ Nine minutes twenty-four… twenty-five... _

“Hermione!” Mikhail yelled coming in. “We have to get out of here. Rio’s being attacked, riots-- they’re shutting down the Floo Network to the entire city from the--”

Another explosion and it was only a quick flick of her wand that kept the gurney still as everything else shook with the explosion. Viktor cried out from the vibrations. 

_ Thirty-seven… thirty-eight... _

“Black box left compartment.”

Gavrail handed it to her and she flung it out in front of her. She hadn’t intended to use it quite yet, but if they were under attack they couldn’t rely on the wheels of the gurney. She flicked her wand so he levitated off the table, blood dripping steadily as she activated the charms on her black box so it folded out into a full gurney and operating table with a stand for the parchment to track his vitals. The image grew clearer with contact as all of the spells melded together.  Mikhail came closer as she finished transfiguring the mattress on the rolling gurney into something thinner, with a light levitation spell on it keep him hovering over the new gurney’s top. 

Sergei moved the other gurney aside as she settled him on to the new gurney that hovered over the ground as he hovered over it, blood dripping off the table. He gave out an almost defeated cry of pain, gasping for help.

“Hermione?” He said, “Hermione…”

“Shh, I’m here,” she soothed. “Mikhail’s here too, he’s going to give you a potion--”

“No! No!”

Mikhail swallowed laying a hand on Viktor’s and taking the potion from Hermione’s hand. 

“Hey, Viktor, you can hear me right? You need to drink it.”

“No sleep! I can’t-- I’ll die-- “

“Trust Hermione,” he said looking at her. “It won’t put you to sleep, it’s just for the pain.”

“Just the pain,” She assured.” Just the pain.”

“She needs you take this.”

It’s only a small fight to get him to open his mouth and swallow while Hermione is looking over the reading and another explosion comes. 

Was there nothing that he hadn’t broken? That hex was meant to kill him. She made a mental list and moved to stand back by his head as his body began to relax, the pain numbing considerably. 

“Viktor,” she said gently. “This is going to hurt. Raziram?”

_ Eleven minutes and seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven... _

“H-Hermione…”

“Raziram, Viktor?” she said. “I’m here. We’re all here. I promise.”

“T-Talk to me?”

“I will. Breathe for me,” she said focusing on his neck first and began to guide the vertebrae into place, bracing each one with another rune as she went. He screamed as she kept talking to him.

“The Floo Network has been disconnected in or out,” Sergei said. “We can’t apparate him like this.”

“Do what you want,” the mediwitch said sneering at Hermione, “I’m leaving!  No need for my career to go down with yours! I’ll be sure to report you to the Healer’s Board and the IQL!”

She and her entourage stormed out as Hermione realigned his spine and set a bracing charm on his chest. 

“Can you fix it?”Sergei asked looking at his leg, more in pieces than anything, the saving grace being the toughness of the boots he was sure.

“His life comes first,” she said but they knew what that meant-- she would try.  Mikhail stayed by Viktor’s side talking to him with Hermione as Hermione kept working to the middle of his spine, healing and binding each vertebra until he was immobilized from the rib cage up. She splinted both arms, his broken fingers with thick walls of magic around them.

“H-Hermione, please,” he whimpered.

Blinded. 

Immobilized. 

In more pain than he’d ever been in his life, yet all he wanted--

“Hermione.”

He wanted. 

“Hang in there,” Mihhail told him in the midst of the haze of Hermione’s voice speaking spells over him. 

“Drink this,” she whispered pressing another potion to his lips, gearing up for the next round of spells.

“H-Hermione.”

“You promised to trust me, Viktor. Trust me.”

“Snitch,” he said and Hermione swallowed. 

_ Twelve minutes and forty-seven, six… five-- _

“Give us a moment,” Hermione said,  “Everyone outside.”

Mikhail looked at her, “But--”

“Go,” she said. “See if you can find us a way out of here. I’ve got it from here.”

He nodded, telling Viktor that they’d be outside. Hermione waited until they were gone to kiss him gently. 

“Talk to me, Viktor.”

“I’m going to die,” he said. “And I cannot see you.”

“Not today,” she said gently. “You’re not dying today. We haven’t even made up properly yet.”

“I--I’m sorry,” Viktor said. “I’ve hurt you,  _ Hermione. _ ”

“You’ll hurt me more if you give up on me,” Hermione said, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “Trust me? Trust me to take care of you Viktor. Trust me that I’m still here even if it hurts?”

“If I--I die, promise me to find your soulmate?”

“I already have,” she said. “And if he dies on my table, I don’t think anything will ever be right again.”

Viktor choked, his eyes burned with tears that were barely registered beyond the rest of the pain in his body.

“I love you.”

“ _ Obicham te _ ,” she said gently. “Color?”

“Green,” he said panting.

She held her wand with her left hand, the right on his face, stroking his cheek so he could feel her there. 

_ Thirteen minutes. _

**Author's Note:**

> I don't speak Greek or Bulgarian, so if any of these translations (and there will be very few) are wrong, please let me know!


End file.
